


Butterscotch and Bones

by kaliawai512



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Babybones (Undertale), Brotherly Affection, Childhood Trauma, Cinnamon Roll Papyrus, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone gets hugs, Family, Fluff, Gen, Handplates, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Minor Injuries, Momplates, Motherly Affection, Nonbinary Chara and Frisk, Papyrus Needs A Hug, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Illegal Experimentation, Past Torture, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sans Needs A Hug, Toriel needs a hug, zarla-s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 65
Words: 90,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaliawai512/pseuds/kaliawai512
Summary: Toriel promised herself she would never leave the Ruins. She had to stay there, to make sure that if a human fell, she could care for them - even if she couldn't stop them from going to their deaths in time. But now and then, leaving is inevitable. The Ruins have only so many resources, after all. This time, before she heads Home from her latest expedition, she decides to stop and check in on the asocial Royal Scientist who was once her good friend.She doesn't find him.She finds two other someones instead.Based on the "momplates" AU of Zarla's "Handplates."





	1. Day 1: Finish

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to say this once, right here, at the top: _Handplates is not mine in any way, shape or form._ It belongs to [zarla-s](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/), and it's amazing, so please go check out the original series [here](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/139516306171/okay-i-get-a-lot-of-questions-about-what-order-the). There are also a ton of excellent momplates fics (and comics) out there which have inspired this one. I've done my best not to steal ideas, but in case I have without realizing, I apologize in advance. There are too many links to list, but please, search around Ao3 and Tumblr (and [Zarla's page](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/tagged/momplates), for that matter) if you're interested in this happy AU. 
> 
> There aren't very many specific references to Handplates events in this fic, but again, I highly recommend you familiarize yourself with the series. There will only be occasional spoilers (which I will warn for), but this is intended to start after one of the more recent comics, during which a more-violent-than-usual event takes place. That's all I'm saying. Oh, and I really hope this is obvious, but just in case: _everything here is completely platonic._ No pairings except for canon past Toriel/Asgore.
> 
> This was originally done for a collection of fifty prompts, hence the titles. Chapter lengths will vary tremendously, and topics will range from angst-ridden to fluffy as all get-out. References to past violence, but no actual significant violence in the story itself. If all goes well, I'll be updating Tuesdays and Saturdays. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> [EDIT 01-18-18: This story has ... exploded beyond what I ever could have imagined when I first posted it, and I can't think you all enough for supporting it. I just want to say that this whole story - the original first 50 chapters - was written in January 2017, and since then, a lot of new info about Handplates has been revealed, which makes some of this story inaccurate to canon. I've thought about changing it - especially since I ADORE the ways Zarla has expanded the story - but decided to leave it be. This is the way the story was when my first readers read it, and I want to honor that. The "Carol of the Bells" bonus story was written in December 2017, so the content is a bit updated, but has also since been made slightly inaccurate by new Handplates comics. Again, just leaving it as it is.]

“WHO ARE YOU?”

Was she dreaming?

She had to be. Maybe she had decided to rest for a minute and fallen asleep. She had been up all night, after all, and it was still very early morning. Or maybe she had simply passed out—Hotland was known for overpowering monsters not built for the climate, and it _had_ been a while since she visited. Or maybe she had gotten lost in the underground lab, searching for Gaster, in the hopes of seeing an old friend one last time before she returned to the Ruins yet again.

It still seemed far too surreal. Finding the door in a secluded hallway, far away from the rest of the lab. The keypad next to it worn down, as if it had been used far too many times.

Enough times that it was only natural that the user should finally forget to close the door.

She didn’t find Gaster in the hall inside, even after she finally located and flicked on the light switch. Not that she had hoped to talk to him, but he used to spend the night in his lab a lot. And to _see_ him, to know he was doing well, would have been a small comfort. Instead she found rooms, rooms with computers, rooms with medical instruments, rooms with … operating tables, tables with _straps,_ and drills and saws and—

She kept moving.

Part of her wanted to call out for Gaster. Surely this just looked bad, surely it _wasn’t_ that bad. She had been gone a long time, yes, but not _that_ much could have changed. Gaster had never been the nicest monster around, and his LV had been too high for too long for her liking. But he was still the awkward, shy, rather egotistical Royal Scientist, so eager to help, so eager to make things better. So eager to steal junk food from her kitchen when he thought she wasn’t looking. He wouldn’t do anything as bad as what this suggested. He wouldn’t.

But … neither would Asgore.

Despite the years passed, she could still see the little boy’s body in her mind’s eye.

And as hard as she had looked, she had found no sign of any of her other children on the way here.

It felt like forever before she heard a faint noise coming from a room near the end of the hallway. She straightened, even as her SOUL clenched in fear. She would get an explanation. If Gaster was here, she could ask him about what she had found. She could find out the truth. Even if it meant revealing herself, as she had promised not to do.

But Gaster wasn’t there.

Behind the forcefield that flickered to life as she approached the doorway, rather than an overworked, irritable skeleton in a lab coat, she saw two children.

Two _skeleton_ children. Dressed in green medical gowns, curled up next to a bench on the wall, clutching each other.

The taller child, the one who had spoken, was still staring at her after what must have been a minute of silence, his eyesockets wide and curious, even as he gripped the other child with fierce protectiveness.

Toriel swallowed the rush of nausea in her throat.

“I … I’m …”

She couldn’t finish. The taller child turned to the smaller, before looking back to her. “DO YOU SEE THEM, TOO, BROTHER?”

The smaller skeleton didn’t take his eyes off of her for a second. “yeah …”

In all her life, she had never heard a child sound so afraid.

Except—

_“Please, I just wanna go home! I don’t wanna fight! Stop it, please, you’re hurting me!”_

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.

“My … my name is Toriel.” She tried to force a smile, but she knew it came out strained at best. “What are yours?”

The two glanced at each other, then back to her again. The taller tilted his head, still curious, still afraid.

“WHAT’S A NAME?”

She flinched, and it took her a few seconds to process the question enough to figure out a response. “It’s … what you are called.”

The taller lifted his head a bit higher, the way Asriel had when he knew the answer to a question and could barely restrain himself from calling it out.

“OH! THEN I AM SUBJECT TWO, AND THIS IS MY BROTHER, SUBJECT ONE. THOUGH HE ALSO SOMETIMES CALLS US 2-P AND 1-S.”

She was going to be sick.

By sheer force of will, she swallowed back the nausea, the spinning of her head, the cracking of her entire world right down the center, where it had already begun to split. She clenched her fists and relaxed them, trying to calm the magic racing inside her, but it refused. She was going to set something on fire at this rate.

“Do you … does Dr. Gaster … do you two _live_ down here?” she asked, as if there was still a chance, as if there was still _any way_ she could have misunderstood.

The smaller one— _Subject One_ —huffed something like a snort, his eyes hard and far too old for a face so young. “if you can call it livin.”

His brother, Two, frowned and held him tighter, but said nothing.

Toriel ran a hand over her nose and mouth, drawing a deep breath. “Have you always … you’ve never been …?”

But she didn’t need to finish the question. She didn’t need an answer. She already knew. She just didn’t want to accept it.

She cleared her throat, but the lump remained.

“Would you come with me?” she asked, as gently as she could manage. “I can take you outside. Away from here.”

It took a second. But as soon as her words registered, Two’s face broke into a smile so wide it was a wonder his skull didn’t split in two. He sat up straight, held his brother tighter.

“WE CAN GO OUTSIDE?” he asked. His eyesockets sparked with an orange glow, interlaced with green. “BROTHER! BROTHER, WE—”

“no.”

Toriel barely heard the soft voice, but it cut Two right off. His face dimmed, and he looked down at his brother once again.

But One’s eyes locked on Toriel, his browbone lowering, as if she had just made a very cruel joke.

“no,” he repeated, just as softly, but with more bite than she had ever heard in a child’s voice. “this is … this is a test, isnt it? if we go with you, he’ll punish us.”

Two’s shoulders sagged. Toriel pursed her lips.

“I promise, my children. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

One’s browbone furrowed, curiosity overlaying the suspicion. “promise …?”

She took a step closer. The glowing bars of the forcefield buzzed with magical energy, but she ignored it.

“Please,” she said, unable to keep from begging. “Come with me.”

One stared at her, the lights in his eyes so small they almost disappeared.

“how?” he asked. Now, instead of curiosity, she heard resignation, and long-accepted pain. “the cell’s locked, and he’s the only one who can open it. you cant—”

Before he could finish, before Toriel could think, she had formed a fireball in her hand and shot it straight into the keypad. It fizzed and sparked. Another fireball, and another after that. Smoking, the front panel fell off, and one more fireball straight at the wires made the bars flicker and disappear.

The children stared.

“Please. Hurry.” Panic slipped into her tone as she looked again down the hall, straining her ears for any sound of movement. “He’s not here now, but if we wait …”

Since when had Gaster’s arrival sounded so terrifying?

What would he even _do_ if he found her there?

Make excuses? Try to justify it? Beg her not to tell?

… or would he just kill her to make sure she wouldn’t?

Half an hour ago, she would have laughed at the idea of him hurting her. Half an hour ago, she would have laughed at the idea that he _could_ hurt her.

But if she hadn’t known this … what else didn’t she know?

She looked back and found Two pushing himself to stand on wobbly legs, gripping One’s hand and tugging. One resisted.

“BROTHER. BROTHER, LET’S GO.”

The lights in One’s eyes bored into her, suspicion, _fear,_ rolling off him in waves. But then he looked at his brother. He glanced around the cell. And he looked down at his own hand, angled away from her so she couldn’t quite see it.

Then, without a word, he let Two lead him out of the cell.

She wanted to scoop them into her arms and run. But when she moved toward them, One flinched, and even Two watched her with apprehension.

So despite all her instincts, all her concern, she just gave them a small smile, turned, and started back down the hall. Briskly, but slow enough for them to keep pace.

A few seconds later, she heard two sets of skeleton feet clack against the floor.

And they followed her out of the lab.


	2. Day 1.5: Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP. I know it's been a while since I've posted in a very active fandom but _wow_. Thank you so much to everyone who's read, left kudos, bookmarked, and commented. Just ... yeah, wow. 
> 
> Quick note: Zarla has [mentioned](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/155322914714/could-you-please-please-please-show-how-the) that the boys wouldn’t be suspicious of any food Gaster gave them, since he’s never drugged them/harmed them/etc. using food before. I’m running under the idea that while Papyrus would trust anyone who showed them kindness, Sans would view _anything_ done to them by a stranger as suspicious. After all, he’s only known two people in his life, and one of them hasn’t exactly given him the best view of “people who aren’t my brother.”
> 
> As another note, I'll do my best to post trigger warnings at the beginning of relevant chapters, but if you have a trigger other than blood, death, panic attacks, more detailed references to torture, or solitary confinement, then _please_ let me know and I'll mark it, no matter what it is. The only trigger I won't warn for in specific chapters is child abuse mentions, because, well, this is a Handplates recovery fic, every chapter would probably qualify. But there won't be anything explicit. There will be no harsh language, explicit violence/gore, or overt discrimination, and obviously no sexual content.
> 
> Trigger warning here for hints at panic attacks and a more detailed reference to past torture.

They didn’t stop to rest until they had almost reached Snowdin.

The journey back to the Ruins should have only taken her a few hours on her own, and it might have taken her that long if the boys had agreed to let her carry them. But the one time she had dared to offer, after about an hour of walking, One jerked back and gripped his arms, pressing closer to his brother’s side and looking more terrified than a child ever should have been.

She swore that Two had been ready to accept, but at One’s response he simply pulled his brother into a tight embrace, his eyes sad, empty with the pain of some recent memory.

It took ten minutes to convince them to move again.

After that, the journey was silent, and Toriel kept her pace slow so the boys wouldn’t have to push themselves. Their feet must have been getting tired, but they never complained. At last, though, she began to grow tired herself, and she figured that must mean they were exhausted.

She was right. The second she found an out-of-the-way spot and suggested they sit down for a minute, they all but collapsed, Two sitting against a nearby wall and One curling up into his lap.

Oh, how she wanted to just let them go to sleep.

But it was already afternoon. Gaster must be awake by now. He would have noticed them missing.

He would be coming to find them.

No. As much as she hated to make them keep moving, they couldn’t stop for long.

After a few minutes of rest, something else hit her, and she wanted to smack herself on her forehead for being so stupid.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. The boys looked up, Two tired but alert, One half-asleep but still watching her with the same uncertainty and fear. She smiled, sheepish. “I’m sorry, I should have thought of that before now.”

She opened the bag she carried on her back, then pulled out another from inside, the smaller one she had packed before she left, now almost empty.

“How does snail pie sound? I would offer butterscotch if I had some with me.”

As she pulled out the remainders of the pie, wrapped in paper for the trip, Two’s head perked up.

“WHAT IS PIE?”

Toriel blinked. Something in her twisted.

“Oh,” she murmured. “Well … here. Why don’t you try some?”

It was closer to three slices of pie than two, but she figured they could use all the food they could get. She held it out toward them, keeping her distance just in case she made them uncomfortable.

Two eyed the pie with wide sockets, eager, hungry, but just as he held out a hand to reach for it, One’s eyelights narrowed.

“you eat some first.”

“OH, YES!” Two pulled his hand back, though he didn’t seem to notice the sharp suspicion in his brother’s tone. He smiled. “YOU MUST BE HUNGRY, TOO. YOU SHOULD EAT FIRST, AND THEN WE’LL EAT.”

Toriel looked from one to the other, Two so oblivious, so selfless, One watching her as if she were trying to kill them in as creative and underhanded manner possible.

She wasn’t sure if she could take her insides twisting any more than they already were.

Regardless, she took out a fork, cut off a bit of the pie, and brought it to her lips. It wasn’t quite as good as when it had been fresh, but it still made her smile in appreciation. The changes she made to the recipe really had turned out.

She turned back to the boys, raising an eyebrow in question and offering the pie again. This time, when Two reached for it, One didn’t stop him.

Before she could even think of handing them the fork, they dug in.

Every one of her finicky-mother instincts flinched at seeing them literally pick the pie up with their hands and shove it in their mouths. It crossed her mind, for a split second, to ask whether Gaster had ever brought up table manners, before the ridiculousness of that thought hit her like a pile of bricks. No, of course not. What would be the point of table manners when they didn’t have a table? When they barely had a bed, when their clothes were _medical gowns_? When they never saw anyone outside of himself?

She watched them as they ate, neither of them hogging the pie to themselves. Even in their feeding frenzy, they seemed to subconsciously make sure each got his fair share. Altruism. Kindness. Even in the face of cruelties Toriel didn’t want to imagine.

But just as the beginnings of a smile touched her lips, her eyes fell to their hands, coated in bits of pie they had already begun to wipe off onto their teeth.

Their hands.

Their right hands.

How had she not noticed that before?

How had she not noticed those _plates_?

Metal plates. With _screws,_ attaching them to their hands.

And suddenly her mind provided her with all those things she didn’t want to imagine. The drills, the hammers, the saws. The operating table, with those straps. The perfect size for a child’s body.

What had this world become since she left?

She moved around as the boys finished eating, pretending to stretch her legs, always keeping her distance, never staring, but catching several good glimpses. And though the plates had become almost as messy as their fingers, she still made out the hint of the engravings in the metal on each hand.

WDG-1S. And WDG-2P.

Subject One and Subject Two.

Finally, they finished wiping the last of the pie crumbs from the paper onto their teeth, their hands and clothes a mess, but their bodies a bit more relaxed. Two turned to her, smiling.

“THANK YOU!”

Toriel’s breath hitched, but she shook herself out of her pained reverie and forced a smile in return. “Of course, my child. Are you ready to go?”

Two looked at One, who gave a hesitant nod and climbed off of Two’s lap. Two stood, looking at the paper in his hands with a furrowed brow, as if unsure if he was meant to keep it. Toriel held out her hand. He smiled and gave it back to her to tuck into her bag.

Without a word, they started off again, a little faster than before. They had a long way left to go before they reached safety, and Toriel wasn’t sure whether they could risk another stop.

She forced herself not to look at the children’s hands when she glanced back to check on them as the dim wetness of Waterfall began to shift to the white of ice and snow.

She did her very best not to imagine what the drill would sound like as it dug into their bones.


	3. Day 2: Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, funny story about the timing of this little tale. When I wrote the first draft, I actually wrote Toriel finding the boys as she was leaving the castle for the first time (right after Asgore killed the first human), because I'd seen a [comic with Toriel and Gaster](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/153497479507/could-you-write-about-handplates-gaster-after-the) and failed to notice that it didn't occur during Handplates. But then I read more of Zarla's posts and realized, oh, that's not accurate, so I just went with Asgore's comment from [this comic](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/150750894477/happening-concurrently-next-technically) about "when the last soul falls" and assumed, okay, this is probably six humans in, I'll just change the story up. But just earlier this week, I saw some of Zarla's [Momplates stuff on LJ](http://zarla.livejournal.com/642633.html) which suggests that if the boys stayed with Toriel they would have met all six fallen humans before Frisk.
> 
> Long story short? I have no idea if this timeline is accurate, but I'm too far into the drafting to change it now. Sorry, everyone. XD (Yes, I did just link you to three of Zarla's comics. If you haven't already read them, please, please do.) Thanks so much for all your kind feedback, and I hope you enjoy the new installment!

She had no watch, but she had little doubt midnight had come and gone by the time the familiar door finally came into sight.

Rest stops had been inevitable, but not because either of the boys had complained—she doubted whether either of them even _would_ complain. When she had gone through Snowdin the first time, it had been after dark, when things were quiet and it was easier for her to sneak around without being seen.

Now it was daytime and she had two charges with her. Two charges to whom this world was still brand new. Two charges who were far, far more important to keep hidden than herself.

She tried to believe that no one would approve of what Gaster had done. But she had been gone a long time, and enough of her assumptions had been shattered for one day for her to risk keeping any more.

So they took the long way around. They avoided the town itself when they could, and when they couldn’t, they hid, ducking around buildings and trees to stay out of sight. Normally she would have strained her eyes for glimpses of old friends, familiar faces, but now, all she could focus on was not being caught.

The boys didn’t make a sound when they needed to hide. They just clutched each other tight, and even when it was time to walk again, they never let go of one another’s hands.

It was after nightfall when they reached the edge of the town.

The forest was a good deal more intimidating at night, but neither of them seemed to notice the difference. She thanked the stars skeletons weren’t as sensitive to temperature changes, because she hadn’t bothered to bring a coat—and it would have been far too big for them, anyway. Every time she glanced back at them, they were staring wide-eyed at their surroundings, taking everything in, from the towering trees to the crunch of snow under their feet. She would have loved to take them on a real tour of Snowdin, let them see the shops, the lights, the people. But she had given that chance up long ago, and she wasn’t going to risk anything happening to the boys for the sake of a little sight-seeing.

She picked up her pace, almost without realizing, as she caught a blur of purple at the end of the white path. When she stopped, a little suddenly, the boys almost bumped into her, but caught themselves at the last second before slowly, hesitantly, stepping forward to stand at her side and look up at the enormous door.

Toriel let out what was possibly the heaviest sigh of her entire life, letting her eyes shut for just a moment as a smile touched her lips.

“We’re here.”

Two looked at her, head tilted in the curious pose that was growing on her faster than weeds. “WHERE IS HERE?”

One’s eyes shifted between her and the door, suspicious as ever. She guessed it would take a long time for that to change.

But she smiled nonetheless.

“This is … Home, my children. It’s a safe place where no one will ever hurt you. It’s just us.” She paused and chuckled. “Well, us and a few small monsters. But they won’t hurt you either.”

She pulled open the door and stepped inside. Heavy as it was, it remained propped open on its own, so she let it go and stepped aside to give the children room to come in. She turned around to face them.

And for a split second after she met his gaze, she swore One was about to grab his brother and run the other way.

She could see the distrust. The fear. The certainty that no matter how she had acted so far, soon, inevitably, she would betray them. His eyelights had almost disappeared for how small they had become, and she could just make out the faint sound of bones rattling in the silence.

In his mind, he was about to be trapped once again.

But before she could open her mouth, before One could take a single step, Two gave his hand a firm squeeze and smiled down at him. Toriel had never seen such gentleness, such reassurance, such utter trust in a child, despite his lingering fear.

One looked at his brother. Two smiled wider and looked to the door.

Then, with a huffed sigh, both of them walked inside. Only once they had passed her did she shut the door behind them.

And though she knew that her work was far from over, that she couldn’t even imagine how many things she had yet to do to help these boys, Toriel couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming rush of relief.

They were safe.

Somehow, she would make sure they knew it.

Their footsteps echoed as they made their way down the long hallway toward the main house. The children paused when they reached the staircase, but before she could explain what it was—had they ever seen one before?—Two took the first step, still clutching One’s hand, and they started up after her.

She stopped at the top of the staircase to wait for them to catch up. She watched their eyes grow with their view of the house, and as they paused on the landing next to her, they turned their heads back and forth, absorbing the newness of the cozy little house she had spent more time in than she liked to remember.

“WOW,” Two said, more quietly than she had heard him say anything yet.

She tilted her head. “What do you think?”

He turned to her, all but beaming.

“IT’S SO PRETTY! THERE ARE SO MANY COLORS, LIKE THE TOWN WE WENT THROUGH, EXCEPT IT’S INSIDE.”

“This is my house,” she said, unable to hold back a chuckle at his enthusiasm. “There are other parts of the Ruins through the door there, but I’d like you to stay in the house for now, if you wouldn’t mind. Some places can be dangerous if you aren’t familiar with them. But you’re very safe here.”

“OH, OKAY,” Two replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

But One’s eyes narrowed, and as she led them further into the house, his gaze drifted toward the front door, like he might eye the exit to a prison. She said nothing about it.

She gave them a brief tour of the house—brief because, though Two’s energy never seemed to end, she got the impression One was about to fall asleep on his feet. She showed them the kitchen and the sitting room, the hallway and her bedroom, and just to satisfy One’s curiosity, she opened the door and pointed out the courtyard in front of the house. At each stop, they looked around like they had just discovered a new world. She had no doubt they would do a much more thorough exploration once they were better-rested.

She made a quick snack for them, and as they ate, she led them back down the hall toward the first door. One had noticed when she passed by it before, and when she stopped in front of it now, his attention locked on her. She gave him a smile and pushed it open, before crossing the darkened room to flick on the lamp.

“And this will be your room, my children,” she said as she turned to face them.

They stepped inside, sockets wide, One’s suspicion mixed with wonder while Two just stared in hesitant glee.

“OUR ROOM? THIS IS OUR ROOM?”

She smiled, though it was pained. That cell didn’t count as a room. “Yes, it’s all yours. We can decorate it more to your liking later. And if you like, I think I have another bed frame and mattress around here to make up a second bed.”

Two frowned, puzzled.

“WHY?”

One’s browbone furrowed as well. Toriel blinked.

“Only if you’d like,” she added. “But I suppose you’d prefer to share a bed?”

They both stared at her as if she had said something particularly odd, or particularly obvious. One clutched Two’s hand a little tighter. Well, perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. Asriel had spent at least half his nights in her and Asgore’s bed when he was young, and had even been known to climb in bed with Chara after a bad dream.

She nodded.

“That’s just fine. This room is yours, now,” she said. “I’ll be going to bed soon. Do you need anything before I go?”

Two shook his head, grinning once more.

“Very well. You know where my room is. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”

She doubted they would, but she could at least say it. Maybe if she said it enough times, they would believe her.

“OKAY!” Two replied, before running forward toward the bed he had been eying on and off since they walked in. He paused in front of it, then clambered on with all the grace of a toddler. His brother followed him, but stopped before getting on.

Two poked at the mattress, then bounced up and down. She doubted he weighed more than twenty pounds, but it still shifted, just a little, under the movement. Two laughed, delighted.

“LOOK, BROTHER! IT’S SOFT!”

One shot her one more uncertain look before climbing on, having a bit more trouble than Two but still managing it without help. He pushed at the mattress with both hands, climbing over it and exploring the feel of the blankets under his fingers. Two bounced more and laughed, a beautiful sound Toriel wished she could hear a million times again. They moved around, experimenting with the texture, seeing how high they could bounce with their minimal weight.

For the first time since she had found them in that cell, both of them looked almost content.

At last, she slipped outside, closed the door, and started back out to the sitting room.

Yes, she would get to bed soon. But first she had to unload her things, and make sure she had enough food for three people, and figure out what in the world she was going to need to take care of two very damaged skeleton children instead of the single human child she was always prepared for.

She paused in front of the staircase, put her face in her hands, and sighed one more time.

No. She probably wouldn’t be sleeping much at all.


	4. Day 3: Charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome. Thank you so much for all your feedback. :)
> 
> Trigger warning: vague description of torture (as in, slightly more detailed - I think this whole fic is under a "hey torture happened in the past" TW).

Toriel wanted nothing more than to give the boys every sort of toy and food and clothing and positive experience she could think of, but as it turned out, they spent most of the day sleeping.

Or she assumed they were sleeping. They stayed in their bedroom with the door shut, and she only interrupted them when it was time for a meal. And though she would have liked to call them out to the table, she knew that was one thing that would have to wait. So she just left the plates on the edge of the bed and picked up the dirty dishes once they were done.

She gave them silverware, but she doubted it was ever used.

Occasionally, she passed by their door a little more slowly than usual, straining her ears. Once or twice, she heard them talking, too quietly for her to make out, and the rest of the time she felt the faint hum of their magic, small and fragile but definitely there. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough reassurance to keep her satisfied.

She probably should have slept more her second night home, considering that she had hardly slept at all over the past two—or was it three?—days. But she laid in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, picturing that cell and those boys curled up inside it.

Picturing those metal plates.

Picturing Gaster drilling them in.

Even pressing her pillow to her ears did little to stop her hearing their screams.

She woke up early and cooked the most elaborate breakfast she had made in at least a year, with all of the favorite treats of every child she had ever cared for, in the hopes that at least one of them would appeal to the boys. She waited until later in the morning, warming the food with her magic from time to time, before she finally deemed it a decent time to try and wake them.

Since there was so much food, and she didn’t know if she would catch them sleeping, she left breakfast in the kitchen as she walked to their door and knocked.

“COME IN!”

A smile touched her lips. She had had to explain the concept of knocking the day before. The first time, she knocked three times before Two called out to ask if there was something wrong with the door. He had found the idea of privacy surprising, but nice, and smiled at her until she left—though he smiled at her most of the time anyway.

She opened the door and poked her head in. The two of them were already awake, sitting up in bed, watching her. The bed still hadn’t been unmade. Perhaps she would have to explain the concept of getting under the blankets later on.

“Good morning, my children. Did you sleep well?”

One’s eyesockets drooped, yet he still managed to keep that sharp suspicion. Two just smiled wider.

“YES, THANK YOU! THIS BED IS VERY SOFT AND NICE TO SLEEP ON!”

Asriel had thought the mattress was lumpy, and that was years ago, but Toriel supposed even a lumpy mattress would feel like heaven for children who had only ever slept on a bench.

She nodded. “That’s very good to hear. Now, I have some breakfast ready, and I can bring that in in just a minute. But first …”

She stepped further into the room, and immediately One pushed himself closer to the wall, sockets wide and fully awake. She paused, then kept moving, slowly, letting them see each of her movements.

Her hands in clear view, she opened the wardrobe on the far wall and looked inside. Her SOUL clenched, even though she had seen the contents dozens of times by now. With each child that had stayed longer than a few days, she had added something new, and now she had what amounted to an entire wardrobe, in various colors and sizes. Things her human children had worn. Things they had left behind. Things they would never wear again.

She reached inside and pulled out two striped sweaters and two pairs of pants.

“I’m not sure how these will fit,” she began. “But they should work until I can make you some of your own.”

The two of them stared at her, then at each other, then at her again.

“WHAT ARE THEY?” Two asked.

“They’re clothes, my child,” Toriel replied, trying not to sound pained that it wasn’t obvious. “Sweaters and pants.”

Two’s browbone furrowed. She swore she saw something like hope in his eyes, but it was muted, as if he had had it partially forced out of him. “ARE THEY … FOR US?”

She pursed her lips, but managed to keep smiling. “Yes.”

And that was all it took. The hesitation disappeared, and Two’s face stretched into a smile, his sockets eager and wide.

“OH! THANK YOU!” He took the clothes she held out to him, quickly handing one pair to One while holding the other close to his chest. He ran his fingers over them, appreciating the texture, his face brighter by the second. “BROTHER, LOOK! THEY’RE SOFT, LIKE THE BED! HERE, LET’S PUT THEM ON!”

He had already reached over to get at the back of One’s medical gown, and One turned around to give him better access. Toriel chuckled and walked back to the door, pausing just before she stepped into the hall.

“Just call me if you need any help. I’ll be back in a minute with your breakfast.”

She had already begun to turn when she noticed Two fidgeting, the way he did when he had something to say, but wasn’t sure about saying it. He had paused halfway through undoing the knot on his brother’s gown.

She faced him in full. “Yes, my child?”

Two waited a moment longer, glancing at his brother before meeting her eyes. “YOU SAID … YOU WERE GOING TO MAKE US MORE CLOTHES?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Ones that fit you properly.”

“OH. THAT WOULD BE VERY NICE!” Most of his hesitance faded into a smile. Something deep in her relaxed. She hated seeing a child so bright and eager look so nervous. “WILL THEY LOOK LIKE YOURS?”

Her brow furrowed. She glanced down at her own robes, then at the sweaters and pants sitting in front of them on the bed. “Would you like them to?”

“YES, PLEASE! I LIKE YOURS.” He paused and patted his own pile of his clothes. “I LIKE THESE, TOO, THOUGH! VERY MUCH!”

Even Asriel hadn’t been quite this desperate to please. She wasn’t sure whether she found it more endearing or sad.

She turned to One. “Would you both like robes? You wouldn’t prefer sweaters?”

Two looked to his brother, and his brother looked back. They said nothing out loud, but a moment later Two met her gaze again and nodded, decisive.

“WE’D BOTH LIKE ROBES, PLEASE.”

“Very well,” she said with a smile. Then she slipped into the hall and shut the door behind her.

When she came back in with their breakfast, they were already dressed, though One’s pants were too long while Two’s only came a little past his knees. Maybe she should have specified which outfit she had meant for which child. But neither of them looked uncomfortable, and it could wait until tomorrow. As it was, she only just managed to keep from splitting her face in an enormous grin.

She would certainly make them robes if they wished. But stars, did they look _adorable_ in those sweaters.


	5. Day 4: Morgue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *checks* Yep, you're all still amazing. :)
> 
> Trigger warning: past child death.

She had planned to go immediately after she got home. She had gone every day for years, after all, only missing if she had a new child to care for. But as much as it mattered to her, the boys took priority.

They were still alive. The dead would rest.

As soon as she felt confident that the children would be alright on their own for a while—no, they weren’t alright, they wouldn’t be alright for a long time, but they wouldn’t get _hurt_ —she made some food for them, made sure they had everything they needed, and set off.

The walk seemed longer than she remembered. Maybe it was because now she had a sense of leaving something behind, and with every room she passed through she wondered if the boys were still safe, if they were upset or lonely or bored or …

She shook her head and tried, in vain, to push those thoughts away.

The journey itself was quiet, just as it had been since she had first taken it so long ago. Only the sound of her own feet padding on the ground to keep her company. Once or twice, she swore some of the monsters in the Ruins were following her, moving in the corner of her eye, but when she returned around, there was never anyone there.

At last, the bed of flowers came into view, illuminated by streaks of warm sun.

And something tight that had built up in her chest over the past few days began to loosen.

She smiled, even though it hurt.

“Hello, Chara,” she said as she made her way to the flowers. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come back. I had something to take care of.”

She picked up the watering can she had left here from last time—it was still partially full, but the flowers were probably more than thirsty after so long without water. She would have to bring it back to the house today to refill. With her usual care, she poured water over the blossoms, never giving too much or too little to each patch.

It had been years since flowers had grown over the old lump of dirt, but she could still remember exactly where she dug the hole where Chara’s body lay.

“I have two new guests. And they’re not humans this time, would you believe it? They’re skeletons. Like Dr—” She stopped, her tongue halfway formed around the name before she cut herself off. She pursed her lips, but forced a smile as she continued her watering as if nothing had happened. “Well. You know what skeletons are.”

Chara had seen Gaster. Not particularly often, since he wasn’t exactly the most sociable of monsters, and Toriel wasn’t sure how well they had gotten along. He was, to the best of her knowledge, the only skeleton they had ever met.

He was the only skeleton she had seen in a long time, even before she left for the Ruins.

She sighed as she set the watering can down, only a few drops left inside.

“I think you’d like them. One of them reminds me a lot of you when you first arrived,” she said. Her smile twisted, aching and tight. She sat down just in front of the flowerbed, letting the scarce rays of run wash over her face. “I wish they could have met you.”

But if Chara had lived, would the boys even be here? Would the boys even _exist_? She didn’t know how they were created, but she could only presume they had been intentionally made for whatever … _atrocities_ Gaster had put them through. What had driven him to this? He wouldn’t have done this when she knew him. Awful things, certainly, but not _this._ Not to _children_ of his own _kind._

If Chara had lived, then Asriel would have lived, too. And if they had both survived, she doubted Asgore would have ever declared war.

Had that been what caused this change? What gave him some twisted reason to think he was doing this for some greater goal?

Had Asgore told him to …?

She didn’t feel the tears until they dripped onto her robes.

How many years had it been? She could never forget the date, but she had stopped counting the years. The years since her children had died, the years since Asgore had changed, the years since that sweet little boy had come wandering into the Underground, helpless, afraid, _unknowing_ of what was to come.

She could never forget what he looked like, lying dead on the floor.

Her tears began to slow, as they always did. But before she could wipe them away, something sounded behind her. Her head snapped up. She turned.

Two skeleton children, still dressed in those sweaters and pants—the ones that belonged to the human children, _her_ human children—watching her from a distance, one just a bit less sharp than usual, and one in something like pain.

She opened her mouth, to ask them how they had followed her so quietly, how long they had been standing there. Just to say hello. But her voice failed her, her throat closing up and cutting her off. All she could manage was a trembling sigh.

Two looked to his brother, and slowly, despite One’s resistance, pulled his hand away from his grasp. Then he walked forward, careful, yet with more of what seemed to be his natural eagerness. She stayed as still as she could as he approached, stopping only when he stood a couple of feet to her side. Then he sat down, knees tucked under him, mimicking her own posture. He looked at the flowerbed with an odd sadness. Sadness for someone he had never known. Sadness for someone he knew nothing about.

Sadness, _real_ sadness, for something that made her sad.

So Toriel just turned back and stared at the flowers, at the grave, and allowed herself a few more minutes of silent mourning.

She hardly noticed the orange glow at first. After all, it had been a long time since she had been around a skeleton other than Gaster, and he had never been particularly expressive. But Two was open, honest, and raw, and when she turned to face him again, she found his eyesockets glowing warm and bright. Like the sunsets she hadn’t seen for centuries, but had never quite forgotten.

It took her almost half a minute to remember that eye-glowing was how skeletons comforted themselves.

And each other.

Despite the tears still streaming down her cheeks, she found herself smiling. She wanted to pull him into a hug, wanted to squeeze him tight and tell him what a wonderful child he was. But she wasn’t sure if she had earned the right.

One was still watching them from a careful distance, something like fear in his eyes.

She doubted there was anything she could do or say that would get rid of it.

At least, not yet.

After a few more minutes, she pushed herself to her feet, and Two followed her. She smiled down at him as softly as she could, and he smiled back, far more comfortably than earlier that same day.

Without a word, she picked up the watering can and started back toward the house, both boys following a short distance behind her.

None of them spoke, but even still, it had been a very long time since Toriel had walked away from the flowerbed feeling quite so content.


	6. Day 5: Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good golly, you guys are wonderful. I'm absolutely astounded at the positive response to this story, and I'm so glad you're enjoying it. :)
> 
> So [apparently](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/141230473353/im-now-curious-if-gaster-from-your-handplates) Gaster hasn't bathed the boys since before he put on the plates - since they're skeletons, they don't sweat or require regular bathing - but when they got very messy as tiny babybones, he would clean them with hydrogen peroxide on a cloth. Doesn't look too pleasant, probably because Gaster's being really rough with them. It's so sad reading about/seeing kids hating bathtime: maybe it's just me, but my brother and I used to love taking baths. Probably because of our large collection of bath toys and all the bath games we invented over the years.

The journey to the Ruins hadn’t been all that long, but between their refusal to be carried and their tendency to eat messy food with their hands, it was no surprise that they got a little dirty.

For the first few days after their arrival, she focused on getting them fed and comfortable, but after they had begun to settle in, she knew there was really no way around it. She broached the topic just after dinner, when they were full and as calm as they ever got, but not tired enough to risk them falling asleep without warning.

One stared at her with that same sharp gaze, while Two quirked his head in never-ending curiosity.

“WHAT IS A BATH?”

Toriel blinked. Then she blinked again.

It was getting harder and harder for her to avoid asking exactly _what_ Gaster had been doing with them in that blasted lab.

“It’s … you’ve never had a bath before?” she asked, even though she knew it was a silly question. Both of them just stared. She hummed, bringing a hand to her chin. “Well, it’s where you fill a tub with warm water, then get inside and clean yourself off.”

Two straightened, though rather than his usual interest, she sensed more hesitation. “SO YOU’RE GOING TO CLEAN US?”

“Yes, if that’s alright with you.”

He fidgeted, glancing at his brother, then back to her. “WILL IT HURT?”

Her brow furrowed. “No, of course not.”

“WILL IT TASTE BAD?”

Toriel tried for a good few seconds to figure out exactly _how_ Gaster had been cleaning these boys, but shook the thought away before she could dwell on it too long.

“No, my child,” she replied. “You don't drink the water, so it won't taste like anything. It might smell like some nice soap, though.”

“WHAT IS SOAP?”

After about ten minutes of questions and answers, mostly by Two—though One watched them the whole time, tossing in a few of his own inquiries—the boys finally agreed to take a bath. She led them into the bathroom and showed them all the main parts, explaining what everything did so they wouldn’t be surprised.

Then she turned on the faucet in the tub.

They stared at the running water with wide sockets, even One’s uncertainty almost forgotten as they watched the tub slowly fill. They didn’t seem to associate the sound with anything unpleasant, to her relief, so she contented herself with glancing at them every few seconds as she gathered up two towels, a few washcloths—she might need more than one for each boy, after all—and some of the best-smelling soap she could find.

She turned off the water, and while One turned to watch her, Two stared at the dripping faucet with eager interest, putting his hands on the edge of the tub to lean closer. She chuckled, and both of them met her eyes.

“Now, you’ll need to take off your clothes. Would you like me to turn around or step outside while you get undressed?”

But Two had already grabbed the bottom of his sweater and began pulling it over his head. As it fell to the floor and he stepped over to help his brother, One tilted his head at her, browbone quirked.

“why?”

Toriel blinked. Well, she supposed they might not have learned the concept of decency, even if Gaster had clothed them. And Asriel hadn’t had much modesty until he was about eight, running around the house after a bath with only a towel tied around his neck.

Both of them kicked off their pants, and she shook herself out of her memories.

They hesitated when she instructed them to climb into the tub, but once she ran her hand through the water to show it was both safe and a comfortable temperature, they got in without complaint. Both of them seemed to marvel at the feel of the water even more than they had at the sound of it, waving their arms and legs around to feel the warmth, the pressure, the way it moved through and around their bones.

She let them explore for a few minutes, experimenting with what the water could and couldn’t do, before she picked up one of the washcloths and dipped it in the tub.

Their attention turned once again to her as she wrung out the cloth and held it up. “Who would like to go first?” she asked, smiling.

The children looked at one another, at the cloth, and back to her. One’s eyelights narrowed, but a second later, Two tentatively moved toward her.

She gave him a wider smile. Then, slowly, so as not to startle him, she brought the cloth to his skull and began to wipe away the dirt.

He stiffened, but relaxed a second later as she ran the cloth down the sides of his face, never pressing hard, even though it might have been quicker that way. She worked her way around his skull, keeping her eyes on him, her movements careful and clear. Though she didn’t turn to look at him, she could feel One watching her, waiting for the moment she tried to hurt his brother.

Two, on the other hand, gave a soft, happy sigh, eyesockets drooping, his mouth curled into a gentle smile. Bathtime had always made Asriel sleepy, too, unless Chara was there to splash around and get him riled up. She cleaned his neck, over his shoulders and arms—he flinched for a second when she touched his right hand, but she was especially careful near the plate, and his tension faded as quickly as it had appeared. By the time she reached his ribcage, his sockets had closed entirely, though he stayed upright. She put a bit of soap on the cloth as she made one more pass over his bones, cleaning the dirt she had missed. He didn’t seem to notice.

At last, she pulled away, and he blinked his eyes open to look at her. She smiled, and he smiled back, perfectly happy. And for a second, just a second, he was an ordinary child. No handplate. No lab, no torture, no _whatever-that-horrendous-excuse-for-a-man-had-done-to-these-boys—_

Then she blinked, and reality set in.

No. No child who had been raised with any semblance of love would look this grateful for a simple warm bath.

She let out a long breath, hung the dirty cloth on the side of the bath, and reached for a clean one as she returned to his brother.

“Now, my child, would you like me to—”

But before she could touch the cloth, One snatched it up, dipped it in the water, and begun scrubbing himself down. He refused to meet her eyes, and even when his brother frowned at him, he gave no response. Her chest ached, but she forced a smile back onto her face.

“I’m going to go get your pajamas,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “Will you both be alright by yourselves for a minute?”

Two nodded. One ignored her, rubbing his shoulder so roughly that she almost worried he would hurt himself.

She slipped out of the bathroom and returned to the bedroom, picking out the nightclothes Two had folded and placed in the wardrobe and those that One had left in a heap on the floor next to the bed. She took a minute to rest her forehead on the wall and breathe, in and out, willing the twisting in her stomach away.

Could she do this? Could she really do this? Could she be what these children needed?

It had been years since Chara had first come to her, broken, scared, unsure of the world around them. She had forgotten how long it took to earn the most basic of trust, for them to allow anyone but Asriel to care for them when they were hurt. She had forgotten how many times she pressed her face into a pillow and held back tears of frustration, wondering if this child would ever find a home with her as they clearly hadn’t with anyone else.

She closed her eyes and huffed.

No. She had failed six children already. Six children had come through the Ruins, six children had left her care. Six children had almost certainly died, even if she had only seen one body.

No matter how long it took, she would not fail these.

She would not fail One.

When she poked her head back into the bathroom, pajamas in hand, ready to ensure that One hadn’t rubbed himself raw, it was to find him sitting still, eyesockets shut, completely relaxed, as Two ran the washcloth over his skull and shoulders with the same gentle care she had used herself.

And this time, when Toriel smiled, it took no effort at all.


	7. Day 6: Stutter

It was more of a relief than she would have liked to admit, the first time she found the boys playing with the toys in the box by their bed.

She had almost been afraid they wouldn’t notice them, or wouldn’t know what to do with them. After all, she doubted they had much, if any, experience with toys. Yet another thing they had been denied.

But even if they hadn’t known what they were for initially, both of them were quick to learn. They discovered that the ball bounced if you dropped it and rolled if you pushed it. They figured out how to spin the top to make it keep going for more than fifteen seconds. Two solved all the puzzle toys in record time and carefully examined each stuffed animal before cuddling it close, while One seemed fascinated by the electric toys that moved when you turned them on.

She had assumed “fascinated” meant wanting to play with them, but she was only a bit shocked when she poked her head in their room to find that he had taken one apart to examine the wiring and buttons within.

Well, Chara had done that, too, and at least One didn’t seem to be taking apart any of the toys Two liked.

He jolted when he found her watching him, his eyelights narrowing in fear, but she just chuckled and smiled and told him to let her know if he needed help putting it back together when he was done.

He didn’t stop staring until she left the room.

Given how much they seemed to appreciate even the simplest things, she guessed it would take them a long time to tire of the toys. Nonetheless, it still seemed like so little. There were so many things they had missed out on. So many things she could give them now.

So that afternoon, a while after lunch, she finally decided it was time to offer them another.

They had come out of their room for once, and made use of the wide open space in the sitting room to roll the ball back and forth. One looked a little bored, but his smile softened every time his brother rolled the ball back with never-ending eagerness. Toriel watched them from the kitchen doorway for several minutes, just soaking in the ordinary sight, before she stepped forward and cleared her throat.

“My children?”

Two, who had just caught the ball, looked up at her with rapt attention. “YES, TORIEL?”

She motioned toward the bookshelf just a few feet away from where they sat. “I was wondering if you’d like to look at some books. A lot of them are quite big and old, but I have a few picture books and some very nice longer stories.”

Two followed her movement. Surely he had noticed the books before, but apparently he had never touched them, even when she wasn’t looking, for he immediately grinned and nodded several times fast.

“YES, PLEASE!”

“Very well,” she said with a small laugh. She stepped closer to the shelf, glancing over the titles with a finger to her lips. “Hmm … here. I’ve known this one to be a favorite.”

She plucked out a thin, well-worn book from the left side of a lower shelf. She had found it in the first few weeks after she moved back here, lying in a corner, abandoned. Most of the older children who had stayed with her had dismissed it, but the younger ones adored it, particularly when she read it to them before bed. Apparently, even though humans alive today had no idea of monsters’ existence, they still liked to write books about monster-like creatures. She doubted One would care for it much, but it seemed exactly the sort of thing Two would enjoy.

She held it out to him, and he took it with both hands, as carefully as if he were handling a sheet of glass. His empty eyesockets gleamed at the bright colors of the picture on the front, running a finger over it in wonder. One crawled over to sit at his side, failing to hide his interest. But a few seconds later, Two’s browbone furrowed, and he looked up at her, smile gone.

“WHAT DOES IT SAY?”

Toriel blinked. She looked down at the book, then breathed out as soft a sigh as she could.

“Oh.” Really, she should have expected this. How could she have not thought of it sooner? “You … cannot read, my child?”

Two shook his head.

“WE CAN READ, BUT …” He hesitated, his eyes drawn again to the letters of the title. “NOT THESE LETTERS. WE SAW THEM SOMETIMES IN THE LAB, BUT WE NEVER LEARNED THEM. MY BROTHER TRIES, THOUGH.”

He turned to One, giving him a small but proud smile. Toriel’s lips parted.

Right. Of course. She had forgotten how important fonts were to skeletons. And it had been so long since she had seen Gaster write that she had forgotten it was almost as impossible to read his writing as it was to understand his speech. He must have taught them using symbols rather than the standard alphabet.

But she had confirmed a long time ago that what he was speaking _was_ the same language as the rest of them, just in such a different font that none of them could understand. And the same was true with his writing. Each symbol corresponded with a letter.

So if the children could read his symbols, certainly it wouldn’t take them long to read letters.

“Would you like me to teach you?” she asked.

Two’s sockets went wide, and he broke into a smile that was becoming more and more common, but no less marvelous to see.

“OH! THAT WOULD BE WONDERFUL!”

He curled his hands into fists near his face, jittering with excitement as he pointed at the overstuffed bookshelf.

“DOES THAT MEAN WE COULD READ ALL THESE BOOKS?” She chuckled and nodded, and he only smiled wider, clasping his hands in front of him in pure glee. “MY BROTHER WOULD LOVE THAT! HE IS VERY GOOD AT READING!”

One said nothing, staring at the floor, but she caught him stealing brief, fond glances at his brother’s joyful expression. She had to hold herself back from laughing as she nodded again.

“Very well, then. Give me a moment, I’ll go write down the alphabet, and we can begin.”

Two was still beaming as she left the room.

She had to pause several times while writing the letters as waves of nostalgia hit her like a ton of bricks. Chara, of course, had already known how to read when she met them, but Asriel … she had taught him herself. Or, rather, he had picked up most of it on his own, from all the time she spent reading to him and sounding out the words. Teaching him the alphabet was more a formality than anything, but she still found herself flooded with memories as she formed each letter as neatly as she could.

Finally, she settled down at the kitchen table and called the boys to join her. They had still been taking their meals in their room, so this was the first time they had come to the table, but at least they seemed to know how to sit in chairs. One still didn’t like her getting very close, but Two was all too happy to pull his chair up right next to hers and lean over to see the paper.

“These are the twenty-six letters,” she began. “There are uppercase letters and lowercase letters. As you can see, many of them look similar, though not always. We’ll start with uppercase. This one is A.”

She went slow at first, just in case they had trouble following. But neither of them looked particularly confused, though Two asked plenty of questions, and often asked her to give examples of words the letter showed up in, to make sure he was associating the letter with the right symbol. Writing would probably be a bit more difficult, but for now, reading would suffice. So she went a little faster, and the boys kept pace without a problem, even One leaning in closer and closer with barely-disguised interest.

“AND … IS THAT ONE P?” Two asked, pointing at the letter with a hesitant smile.

Toriel beamed. “Yes, that’s right!”

Two’s whole face lit up, and he clapped his hands together.

“OH YAY! SO THAT ONE’S Q, AND THAT ONE’S R, AND THAT ONE’S …”

While he went through the rest of the alphabet, Toriel’s eyes drifted to One, who had remained silent through the entire lesson. Silent, but not idle. His eyes raked over the letters like he was engraving them into his head, as if he feared that he wouldn’t get to see the sheet again and had to memorize it all now. She could practically watch him replace the symbols he had grown so familiar with with the letters that would connect him to the rest of the world.

How much information had he been denied? How much more would be open to him, now that he wasn’t limited to what Gaster translated into symbols?

How long had he wished for such a simple freedom?

“TORIEL? TORIEL? ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

Toriel’s head snapped up just as One seemed to notice he was being watched. He shot her a brief glare, but she merely smiled and looked back to Two.

“Yes, my child, I’m fine. Are you ready to move onto the lowercase letters?”

Two nodded, beaming once more. Toriel chuckled, then brought her finger to “a” and began again. She pretended not to notice One following her movements with the same rapt attention as before.

That evening, the alphabet sheet was tucked away in the boys’ bedroom, ready to be accessed any time they wished, and Toriel sat on the rug in front of the fire, listening as Two worked his way through _Fluffy Bunny Gets Lost_ and One followed along at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fluffy Bunny Gets Lost” belongs to Zarla. It was part of a [joke](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/154873662073/more-asks-gotta-split-these-up-or-do-them-more) that Gaster gave the boys a modified version of the book, entitled “Fluffy Bunny Follows Directions Obediently.” Yeah, Gaster really shouldn’t write children’s books. Or do anything related to children, really.
> 
> On another note, _wow_. Almost two hundred kudos in three weeks?! You guys are seriously fantastic.


	8. Day 9: Steal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys gonna stop being so amazing anytime soon? (Please don't!)

Toriel had never kept a particularly close eye on the food in her house. After all, for a good while, she had two growing children, and if there was one thing she knew about growing children, it was that they got hungry very often. If it was close to dinner, she might discourage them from snacking, but the rest of the day, she was used to Asriel and Chara wandering in and out of the kitchen, nibbling on snacks.

So it took her a good week to notice that her groceries were disappearing faster than they ever had at her house before.

Even when her groceries were feeding _Asgore_ as well.

The boys ate a lot, without a doubt. When they first arrived, she filled their plates with more food than she had thought they would eat, and when she went to pick up the dirty dishes, she always found them practically licked clean, despite the children lacking tongues. After their reading lesson, she finally invited them to eat their meals at the table with her, and they agreed—or, rather Two agreed, and One went along with what his brother wanted.

She assumed they had never been able to eat more than what was given to them, so she was quick to set out little snack trays throughout the day, and she showed them where the food was so they could get some for themselves if she wasn’t available. At first, she guessed that they had just taken that to heart. Maybe they needed more food than she had thought. Maybe Gaster had been underfeeding them for so long that they were making up for it now.

But even without stomachs, there was only so much two little skeletons could eat in a set amount of time. And it was definitely less than this.

She considered asking them about it. Two, if he was involved, likely would have told her without question, but One … she couldn’t take a single unexpected step without him flinching. If she asked, he might clam up even more.

Which was how she ended up doing a tiny bit of snooping.

It wasn’t _intended_ snooping. She went in the boys’ bedroom to clean up any food crumbs or other messes nearly every day. They knew that. Usually, they were there, but in the past few days they had been spending more and more of their time in the sitting room, and today, neither of them followed her in.

She hadn’t meant to look under the bed. Honestly, it hadn’t crossed her mind. But she saw quite a few crumbs sitting just under the bedskirt, so without a thought, she got down on her knees to wipe it up.

And as the bedskirt shifted, she caught a glimpse of what was under it.

She frowned. She paused. Then she got down lower, almost laying down on the floor, and lifted up the skirt to peer underneath.

Food. Stacks of food. Snail pie and butterscotch pie and crackers and cookies and countless other snacks and meals.

It was hard to guess from just a glance, but she guessed at least enough to last a few days. Probably a week or more, if properly rationed.

Properly rationed between two young children.

It wasn’t just food. Several toys had found their way under there, particularly the ones Two seemed to favor. There was a clean set of clothes, one for each of them, and two pairs of shoes.

And off to the side, she swore she saw one of the empty sacks she kept in the kitchen for her grocery shopping. A particularly large sack. Probably large enough to carry everything under the bed.

If this had been Asriel, she might have been annoyed, and more than a little confused. If it had been Chara, she would have been both annoyed and concerned.

But this was One. She knew it was One, without a shadow of a doubt. And all she could feel was concern.

It took a long time for her to force herself to move, rolling her now-stiff shoulders as she sat up. Something sounded to her right, and she jerked her head to face it.

One stood in the open doorway, staring at her with a near-perfect mix of horror, anger, and fear.

Oddly enough, she felt like the one caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She didn’t like the idea of her children snooping on her, and she had always held fast to the idea that if they shouldn’t do it, she shouldn’t either.

Lips pursed, she pushed herself to her feet as slowly as she could, but One still flinched back, eyelights almost gone, hands curled into fists, as if ready to either attack or run at a second’s notice. But she held both her hands up in a gesture of peace. It didn’t do much, but a tiny bit of his tension slipped away, and curiosity wove its way into the myriad of emotions on his face.

“I’m not angry,” she said, because apparently it needed to be said. “I’m sorry I looked under your bed. I didn’t know that was a hiding spot for you. If you’d like, I won’t look from now on. Unless there’s anything dangerous or you ask me to look, of course.”

One said nothing. He looked at her like she had broken some fundamental law of the universe, and he had no idea how to handle it.

So she continued, “I noticed you have a lot of things you like under there. Do you like to keep them close so you can get to them more easily?”

His browbone lowered. He glanced behind her, toward the bed. His fists trembled.

“Or perhaps so I can’t take them away?” she suggested. His face tensed further. It was all the answer she needed. She sighed. “I want you to know that I won’t take them away. You can have as much food as you need, and your toys are yours and your brother’s. The only reason I would ever take them away was if you were hurting someone with them.”

He looked away, though kept his face tilted so he could see if she moved toward him. “and what if youre lyin?”

Toriel opened her mouth, but closed it a second later, her mind completely blank.

He _didn’t_ know. He knew what she had done so far. And he knew what the only other adult he had met in his entire life had been doing to him for who-knows-how-long.

So it didn’t matter how she had treated him. He got unlimited food, so he hoarded it. He got toys, toys he had likely never imagined, toys his beloved brother adored, so he stashed them away.

He found a bag, and he kept it, so that if he needed to, he could gather all their things and run.

If she betrayed them, they had a way out.

It seemed a little silly, deep down. It probably seemed silly to him, too. She was, after all, much stronger than them. And he must know that. He was observant, calculating. He knew how to gauge a threat. That was probably at least part of the reason he was so hesitant to trust her.

How could he trust someone he barely knew, someone who could probably kill him in one blow if she wanted to?

She wanted so desperately to move forward, to hug him, but for the first time it struck her how long it would probably take before he let her. For now, the distance between them was one of his only safeties. For now, she would have to make do with words.

“I have no problem with you keeping these things here, and I promise I won’t touch them,” she said at last. “I just have one thing to ask of you in return.”

One’s constant smile tightened, likely running through all the possible things she could demand. Things she probably didn’t even want to imagine.

She made her smile as gentle as she could. “If you need something, please consider letting me know. I will do my best to make sure you have it.”

His shoulders fell. If there was a way for someone with a sealed-shut mouth to gawk, he had figured it out.

Before he could work past his state of shock, before he could tense up again, she crossed the room and slipped past him into the hall, leaving him alone once again, for as long as he needed.

The food didn’t stop disappearing completely. But she didn’t have to go grocery shopping quite as often as before, and she counted that as a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I credit a good bit of Toriel's behavior in this chapter to a real testimonial from the adoptive mother of a child who suffered severe neglect and malnutrition. The little girl, shortly after her adoption, was obsessed with having food around and knowing exactly when and where she would eat if they were out, and one of the things her adoptive family did to help her was give her her own little cupboard of finger foods which she could have anytime she liked (and which she often opened just to make sure the food was there). After several years of patient love and care, she came to trust her family to care for her and almost all her anxiety surrounding food was gone. 
> 
> Though there’s no evidence that Gaster starved the boys, it seems like a kid such as Sans, who had nothing that was truly his, would want to keep everything he and his brother wanted and needed close by—since he doesn’t exactly trust Toriel not to take it away yet.


	9. Day 11: Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After that rather angsty last chapter, have some plotless fluff!
> 
> (Yet again, you guys are absolutely amazing.)

She knew that the progress they had already made in such a short amount of time was more than she could have hoped for.

The boys spent a fair amount of time outside their room now. They ate well, they played with their toys, and as their reading skills improved, they devoured the books she gave them. They improved more each day. Yet she couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t doing enough.

Asriel had been a fairly “easy” child, from what she had heard, but he had still made noise, run around, laughed and played like any young monster. Chara, once they came out of their shell, had been the same, often roping Asriel into all sorts of mischief. At the very least, they had always _bothered_ her, in the best of ways, doing anything they could to get her attention whether she was busy or not. Perhaps it made things more difficult, but it was healthy, it was _normal._ Children shouldn’t have been so content with laying on the carpet, playing quietly with a simple toy, reading their books, or just holding one another in the tired moments after dinner.

Children shouldn’t have been quiet for as long as they were.

So it was more of a relief than anything when, one evening, she looked up from her reading to find Two standing in front of her chair, staring at her arm with the same rapt interest he had shown everything she offered him.

He noticed her watching and looked up. Then he pointed to her hand.

“WHAT IS THAT CALLED?”

Toriel’s brow furrowed. “What is what called, my child?”

He knew what a hand was, certainly? She followed his gaze to her hand, then up to her face, then to her other hand, and her foot and—

“THAT,” he repeated, pointing his finger very close to her arm, without quite touching her.

“Oh,” she replied, the confused tension in her shoulders disappearing. She smiled. “That is my fur.”

He tilted his head. “FUR …”

She chuckled and nodded. She set her book down in her lap and held out her head. “Would you like to touch it?”

Two looked up. He paused, before a smile began to work its way across his skull.

“YES, PLEASE!”

She smiled wider. “Go ahead.”

He beamed, reaching out before pausing, just for a moment, with an almost inperceptible flinch. He looked up at her. She still smiled, though a bit more sadly. He smiled back, and at last, took her hand in his.

He ran small, bony fingers over her arm, exploring the unfamiliar texture. Toriel glanced up to find One’s eyesockets locked on them, as if she might take advantage of his brother’s distraction and attack him. She gave him a smile he did not return. Two turned her hand around with the utmost care and explored her palm.

“IT FEELS … DIFFERENT. IT’S NOT BONE. IT’S … NOT SMOOTH, BUT … IT’S SOFT.”

He continued his examination. He touched her claws, somehow knowing to be careful even before she could warn him. He appreciated every second of it. Even Chara had never shown this much interest in her, in their differences. Toriel almost caught herself wondering whether the boys had even known about other types of monsters before they met her, but she brushed the thought away. Thoughts like that would only make her angry again, and right now, she couldn’t be sure that the boys would know she wasn’t angry at them.

Her smile never wavered, and she let Two explore her fur until he finally seemed satisfied and let go with a smile and “THANK YOU.”

One didn’t stop staring for the next five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to quickly say, since I've gotten a lot of questions about this, that there's really no big secret or major plot twist about why Gaster hasn't come after the boys yet. I don't want to hype everyone up only to disappoint you. ;) This story is more of a slice-of-life, interconnected oneshot collection with a slight overarching plot, but there aren't going to be any massively dramatic or action-y scenes (unless you count angst or flashbacks). Gaster does appear in this story, but he doesn't play a major part - aside from his role in creating the boys' trauma, of course.
> 
> Now if you want to see a story that features Gaster a bit more, check my profile tomorrow ... Yep, shameless self-promotion. Sorry about that. XD


	10. Day 15: Never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're back to angst. Well, sort of. ;) As always, thanks so much for all your feedback. I appreciate it tremendously.
> 
> Trigger warning: hinted past solitary confinement, possible early panic attack.

She couldn’t find the children.

Even as she searched the house for the third time, even as she called for them, those words kept repeating in her head. She couldn’t find them, she had lost them, she had taken them in to protect them and now she had lost them, stars, she couldn’t lose them, not again, she couldn’t lose them—

And before she knew it, she was outside, further into the Ruins, running, her mind swirling around everywhere they could have gone, all the things that could have happened to them. If they got caught in a puzzle, if a monster unknowingly attacked them, if they just decided they didn’t like living with her and snuck out with One’s bag of supplies, or …

Then she saw them.

For a second, just a split second, she was angry. They had scared her _so badly._ They had run off and anything could have happened to them and she wouldn’t have known. How could she have lived with herself, losing them so soon, losing two children _again_ after … And they were fine, they weren’t injured, they had just driven her beside herself with worry and she opened her mouth with thoughtless, sharp words ready on her tongue—

But apparently, they had seen her first.

They backed away from where they stood several yards from her, in front of what looked like a stuffed rabbit—had that been left out here? They watched her with such wide eyesockets that for a second, she thought they were all back in the lab, and she was watching them through the forcefield while they tried to assess her as a friend or a threat.

Except now, they both seemed to lean toward threat.

Their eyes glowed—both of Two’s shining a bright orange, while One’s right socket lit up with blue. All the while, One glowered at her through his fear, as Two stared at her with even more guilt and apprehension than she had seen on Asriel’s face when Asgore fell sick from the buttercups.

“WE’RE SORRY … WE’RE SORRY, PLEASE … PLEASE, DON’T …” he stammered, his clear, strong voice timid. He wrapped his arms around his brother, and One reciprocated without pause. “DON’T TAKE HIM AWAY! PLEASE DON’T TAKE HIM AWAY, WE’LL BE GOOD, JUST PLEASE … PLEASE …”

Toriel wanted to speak, wanted to say something, _anything,_ but all she could do was stare. And the longer she stared, the more the children trembled, the more they clung to each other, the more One’s silent threat turned to pure terror. He clutched his brother with such desperation it must have hurt, but Two never complained.

He watched Toriel, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, shaking his head and holding One tight against him.

“YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU WANT TO ME, JUST … PLEASE DON’T TAKE HIM …”

Toriel couldn’t breathe.

How many times had he begged like that? Begged for something so simple as to stay with his brother?

How many times had he offered himself up to be hurt, just so they wouldn’t be separated?

How many times had he been denied?

And just like that, any hint of anger was gone. And reality came crashing down.

They were two young children, and the only world they had ever known was a cell underground. The only _person_ they had ever known had done who-knows-what to them. Then suddenly, they had been taken outside, by someone they didn’t know, taken across the Underground to a new house with a new life completely unlike what they were used to.

And she had expected them to stay inside.

When had it gotten so hard to remember that Chara had acted the same way?

Chara had never been Asriel, as close as the two had become. Asriel had been coddled, protected from birth, but Chara … for some reason they never said, they had been fending for themself for far too long. And they weren’t keen to give up that independence just to make their new overprotective mother happy.

These boys had spent all their lives locked up in a cell.

Had she just moved them into a nicer one?

She let out a long, heavy breath and knelt.

“I’m not going to separate you,” she said, and some of the fear slipped from their faces, though they didn’t let the other go. She shook her head. “I was … I was just afraid. Afraid that you were hurt.”

Neither of them said a word. They waited, unsure, confused, and so, so lost. She pursed her lips.

“But even if I _was_ angry … I would never hurt you. In any way. And I would never take you away from one another. No matter what.”

She considered tacking on “unless you tried to hurt each other,” but looking at the two of them now, imagining them huddled up in that cell, she doubted the thought had ever crossed their minds.

Two stood up straight, still holding his brother, but far more loosely now. She had no idea how his eyesockets could be quite so expressive, especially when they weren’t glowing, but she swore she saw hope gleaming in those black depths.

“YOU … YOU WON’T? YOU REALLY WON’T?”

Hope. Hope that their one caretaker wouldn’t harm them.

No child should ever have to hope for that.

She swallowed and forced herself to smile.

“Never. I promise.”

And that was all Two needed. He turned to One, a wide smile stretched across his face. “SEE, BROTHER? SHE’S NICE! SHE WON’T HURT US!”

But One was still looking at her. He didn’t let go of Two. Even when she finally coaxed them to follow her back to the house for a snack, One still clutched his brother’s arm like a lifeline, his browbone set, his eyes hard.

Toriel had never seen a child look at her like they truly believed she would hurt them.

And as little as it surprised her, it still made her wonder yet again if she had finally found herself in over her head.


	11. Day 16: Learn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _310 kudos and 205 comments._ Holy _crap_ , you guys are fantastic.

The next day, right after breakfast, she took them both out on a proper tour of the Ruins.

Or at least the parts closest to the house. The Ruins were by no means large, but a full tour would take longer than she thought the boys could handle at once. As soon as they seemed tired, or fidgety, or uncomfortable, she would bring them home, and come back another day.

As they stepped through the door and started through the courtyard, One looked like she was leading them to their executions.

Two, on the other hand, scampered forward, beaming and swinging his head from side to side, examining everything he could find, returning several times a minute to point something out to his brother or ask her a question.

“WHAT IS THAT?”

“That’s a tree, my child.”

“OH! WE SAW LOTS OF THOSE ON THE WAY HERE, DIDN’T WE? THEY WERE MUCH BIGGER!”

“They were.”

“AND WHAT IS THAT?”

“That’s a Froggit. They’re a type of monster.”

“HELLO, FROGGIT! MY NAME IS SUBJECT TWO, AND THIS IS MY BROTHER, SUBJECT ONE! IT IS VERY NICE TO MEET YOU!”

One’s eyes would always soften, just a bit, when his brother dragged him forward to show him something new and exciting, but that softness vanished the second he turned to Toriel. Then it turned again to suspicion. Suspicion that the next corner they turned would lead them into some sort of trap. Suspicion, lingering from yesterday, that her promise was nothing more than words.

At first, Toriel wondered if this tour had even been a good idea.

Until, half an hour into their excursion, Two turned a corner and his sockets went wide.

“WHAT’S THAT?” he asked. Toriel looked ahead, but before she could even see it for herself, Two broke into a smile larger than she had thought his skull could hold. “IS IT A PUZZLE?! LIKE THE KIND I SAW IN THAT BOOK?”

Toriel found herself smiling back as she nodded. “Yes, it is, my child.”

Somehow, he smiled even wider, clasping his hands together and beaming like Asriel when he found extra pie in the fridge.

“OH! I LOVE PUZZLES! CAN I TRY IT? PLEASE?”

She hesitated, glancing at the puzzle. It was another big one with spikes, like the one leading to the flower bed—except these hadn’t been filed down as much, and were still rather sharp. Who in the world had had the idea to put so many dangerous puzzles around here anyway? Why couldn’t there just be nice, easy, safe ones?

“Well … let me see …” She stepped up to the edge of the puzzle, bending over to touch one of the spikes. Well, it wasn’t _too_ sharp. And it would be easy to avoid stepping on them if you noticed that they didn’t automatically disappear when you walked close to them. She hummed, turning back to Two with a slightly reluctant nod. “Alright, go ahead. Just be very careful of the spikes, and go slowly.”

Still beaming, he nodded twice fast, then scampered up to examine the puzzle more closely.

He had apparently never actually done any large-scale puzzles, even though he already seemed to be quite familiar with the idea, if only from the picture books he had devoured since they arrived here. She had no idea what kind of puzzles Gaster had given him, and she wasn’t keen to ask. In any case, it took him a few minutes to properly get started, staring at the field of spikes, checking for clues in nearby rooms, and finally reading the sign on the wall, a little too high up for him to have noticed right away—she would have to remember to go through and lower those.

At last, he approached the field with confidence. He glanced over his shoulder and waved at his brother. One stiffened, as if Two were walking into a minefield, but nonetheless, gave a small wave back. Two stood up straight, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the field.

The spikes retreated.

Toriel bit back a sigh of relief.

Again and again, Two stepped, each movement more daring than the last. But he never misstepped, never hit one of the spikes. If he wasn’t sure, he stopped, calculating, before he moved ahead. He was careful, she was glad to see, no matter how much he enjoyed himself.

It seemed like less than a minute later that he had almost reached the other side. He paused there, looking back and forth between two possible routes. After a few seconds’ deliberation, he chose one, and as she had now come to expect, the spikes disappeared. She made out a giggle of delight as, instead of walking, he leapt over the final plate.

Then his feet touched solid ground, and he spun around to face them, his hands high in the air.

She hadn’t known a skeleton could smile that wide.

“LOOK, BROTHER!” he shrieked, jumping up and down and spinning in pure glee. “I DID IT!”

“nice work, bro,” One replied, his voice soft as always. Yet when Toriel glanced to her side, she found his permanent grin wider than she had ever seen it, his usual round eyelights turned to bright stars as he soaked in his brother’s joy.

She let herself smile at last, clapping hard enough to mimic a small crowd.

“That’s wonderful, my child! You solved it so fast! You must be very good at puzzles.”

If she had thought Two looked happy before, now he looked like she had handed him a key to the surface. “YOU THINK SO?”

It was so hopeful, yet so desperate, that for a moment, it was a struggle to keep smiling. But the ache in her chest never lasted long when she stared at that sweet face. She nodded, clear and absolute.

“Without a doubt,” she said. “I believe you may be the best puzzle-solver I have ever met.”

Two’s eyesockets might not have been large enough for proper stars, but they shimmered and gleamed all the same.

She walked through the puzzle herself, One right behind her, and the three of them continued the tour for another half-hour, until One’s pace began to lag and Two commented that perhaps they should go back to the house for a rest.

But even as he chided his brother for not speaking up about his tiredness sooner, even once they reached the house and settled down on the rug to look through their books, Two never once stopped smiling.

If Toriel had her way, he would never stop again.


	12. Day 19: Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't follow _Bandages_ as well, I've started an [author Tumblr](https://kaliawai512.tumblr.com/)! So if you're Tumblr-inclined and would like to interact with me over there, please feel free! I'm currently getting links to both my stories updated over there, but once all the current chapters are up, I'll start posting the new ones there as they come out.
> 
> Yet again, thank you so much for all your support. I continue to be amazed by the great response this story has received.
> 
> And I don't know if I've said it clearly before, but I want to say it here: a _huge_ thank you to Zarla, without whom I probably wouldn't have even stayed in this fandom long enough to write these fics, even if they weren't already based on Handplates. You create truly astounding art and stories and I know we're all immensely grateful to have you in this fandom. In short? You're awesome. Thank you.

When he finally woke up, he was already screaming.

Or, at least, he thought he was screaming. It _felt_ like screaming. But no sound would come out, no one could hear him, his brother couldn’t hear him, he was alone and there was pain and the drill and screaming, his brother screaming, him screaming, hurt, pain, pain, _pain_ —

Thin arms wrapped around him and pulled him close.

And One could breathe.

He panted, sucking in air like he had during his episodes. He hadn’t had one since they got here. Not like this.

Nothing had hurt them. They were safe. They were okay. They were—

No. They were never safe. Brother thought so, but Brother thought He could be good, Brother thought they had a chance down in that lab, Brother always thought everything would be okay, no matter what.

Even when he screamed so loud the sound etched itself into One’s SOUL.

One squeezed his eyes shut and pressed closer to his brother as an orange glow lit up the room. The aura blanketed him, slowing the trembling in his arms and legs he hadn’t even noticed until now. Whimpers escaped him even as he tried to hold them back, the torrent of emotions crashing over him like a wave. Even with the comfort of his brother’s glow, he wanted to scream.

Never safe.

They would never be safe.

Footsteps pounded down the hall, and the door swung open.

And One reacted before he could think, pulling out of his brother’s embrace and flinging a bone across the room.

He panted. He stared.

The bone hit Toriel in the shoulder where she stood in the doorway. She didn’t even flinch.

For a few long, long seconds, One sat frozen. His brother beside him, lighting up the room, his eyes flicking to purple before turning orange again. Toriel stared, and all One could think about was how easily she had scorched the keypad in the lab. How effortless it had been.

How easily she could kill them both at any moment.

Then, all at once, her face—panicked, fearful, _concerned_ —softened to something resigned and sad. She looked at his brother, a knowing look flickering through her eyes, before she gave a small nod. She slipped back into the hallway and shut the door behind her.

One said nothing as his brother pulled him close once more.

The orange glow around him increased, and One felt his bones relax, soaking it in. His own eye—his own _one_ eye—glowed back, but not nearly as bright, or as strong. Like a flickering candle next to a blazing fire.

He had forgotten what it felt like to glow that strong for himself.

His brother’s fingers brushed over his skull, a gentle stroking motion that had never failed to put One to sleep on the rare instance he found himself restless. One settled further into his embrace, focusing on the familiar feel of his ribs, his spine, his arms wrapped tight around him. The faint thrum of his SOUL in his ribcage. The soft fabric of the pajamas Toriel had given them.

Their lab gowns had never felt that soft.

The door opened again, and One’s whole body tensed. Footsteps crossed the floor, slow, careful, and One wanted to shout for them to get away, leave them alone, just _leave them alone for once in their lives._

A slight weight settled on the bed beside them.

Then the footsteps retreated, and the door closed again.

One smelled something warm and sweet.

It took at least a minute before he was calm enough to lean away from his brother, still touching, but turning his head to see what the smell was. In the glow from his brother’s eyes, he could make out a small plate with a very large slice of something in the middle. One sniffed.

Pie. Butterscotch cinnamon pie.

Right. Toriel had made another one today. She had given them each a piece after dinner.

Even though they’d had it four times now, it never stopped being good.

His brother sat up further and stretched to pick up the plate, bringing it closer. He lifted a utensil from the edge—a fork, One remembered—and carefully cut off a piece from the end. With one arm still wrapped around One, he held the fork close to his mouth in offering. After a second’s hesitation, One tilted his head forward to accept it.

Food had never been anything more than necessity in the lab. It kept them alive. It didn’t matter what they got—sometimes it was delicious, sometimes it was disgusting, and while he had always enjoyed the cookies and chocolate, he had never craved them. Never wished for them. Not when there were so many more important things to wish for.

But now, as his brother brought the fork to his mouth again, One found himself savoring the taste of the food before it slipped down his throat. The sweetness almost seemed to tingle, while the warmth made his bones relax, a bit like glowing. After the third bite, he insisted in a murmur that his brother have some, too, they always shared food, he couldn’t eat at all. His brother took a single bite, then refilled the fork and held it out to One. One didn’t protest.

They traded bites, and with every swallow, One leaned closer to his brother, settling into the position that had grown so familiar in the lab. By the time he tasted the thick, flakey crust, his eyesockets had closed, and a haze had settled over his mind.

He felt his brother slide the plate away before shifting them both to lay back down on the bed. He didn’t bother to replace the covers. They had lived so long without them that right now, they hardly seemed a priority.

One tucked his head under his brother’s, breathing his scent, feeling the hum of his magic, the warmth of their SOULs, so close together. The smooth touch of his brother’s fingers as they stroked his skull. The ever-present orange glow wrapping him in comfort and safety.

Safe. They were safe.

Holding tight to his brother, One slept.


	13. Day 20: Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: canonically, Papyrus writes in his font (as seen in his note on the sentry station) but Sans doesn’t (as seen in his note on the treadmill in his room). So I’m just ignoring that. XD Or maybe Sans learned to write in a different font when he got older, similar to how he learned to speak in another font to scare people?
> 
> You guys have been asking about this chapter for quite some time now, so I hope you enjoy it. ;) Kudos to everyone who guessed quite a while back how this would take place!
> 
> I'm about to go jump out of a plane, so I'll hopefully see you in the next chapter! (No, seriously, I'm posting this right before I leave to go skydiving so... wish me luck?)

She had found the chapter on naming traditions in her skeleton book only a few days after they arrived at the Ruins, but it took her nearly three weeks to see the boys write enough to get a handle on their fonts.

The book didn’t do a very good job at explaining how to recognize the “font” a skeleton spoke in. She recognized the differences in speech patterns—the main reason Gaster had used sign language instead—but apparently recognizing fonts was some sort of innate skill for skeletons, far more difficult for other monsters to distinguish.

Even though they hadn’t known the common alphabet just two weeks earlier, they had picked it up like a charm. One had mastered it in under two days, and with his help, Two followed suit, though at his own pace. Neither of them wrote very often, and their writing was clumsy at best—not to mention the fact that Two seemed resolute in using only uppercase letters, while One stuck to lowercase and liked to abbreviate words as often as he could. But they _could_ write, and did so, occasionally. Just enough for her to study their handwriting and gauge it against the chart in the book.

It took hours of staring, looking back and forth between the extensive chart and the sentences they had copied down to practice. But at last, she had picked out the closest matches.

She wasn’t sure how she felt when she noticed the letters on their hand plates matched the font names, too.

She spent the first half of the day deciding a good time to tell them. Over a meal, perhaps? Or in the evening, when everything was quiet and relatively relaxed? At last, about an hour after lunch, she gave in and walked into the sitting room, determined, even if she was, for some reason, still anxious.

The boys lay on their fronts on the rug, as they did so often, looking through a book. This one was bigger, and probably more difficult, and she heard Two sounding out a few longer words under his breath. One watched him in silence, his eyes as fond as Toriel had ever seen.

It took her a minute to bring herself to clear her throat.

“My children?”

She knew they had already noticed her—she couldn’t tiptoe into a room without them hearing—but now they both looked up in full, Two with a smile, One with a hard, unreadable stare. She gave them both smiles.

“Do you remember when you told me that you were called … Subjects One and Two?” she asked, and even now, she could barely stand to say it.

“YES,” Two replied, head tilted. “YOU DON’T CALL US THAT, THOUGH.”

For a moment, it was very, very hard to keep her smile in place. She shook her head.

“No, it … I didn’t think … they would be proper names for such fine monsters such as yourselves,” she said, trying to hide the strain in her voice. She straightened. “So I was wondering if you might like new ones.”

At this, One, who had watched them like an outsider until now, perked up, his browbone furrowed. “new … names?”

She couldn’t really tell from his tone how he felt about the idea, but she couldn’t help but smile wider.

“Yes. I … actually had some picked out, but of course, you’re free to choose different ones if you don’t like them.”

Two scrambled to sit up properly, scooting toward her, his eyesockets huge and his smile eager and beaming.

“WHAT IS MY NAME?”

It took no effort to smile now, and she let her infinite fondness for the taller boy seep into her expression. “Papyrus.”

Two— _Papyrus_ —tilted his head the other way, face pinched in deep thought.

“PAPYRUS. PAPYRUS,” he repeated, forming his mouth around the words. Then he beamed again, wider than ever. She swore she saw a hint of green flicker in his eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. “PAPYRUS! I LOVE IT! THANK YOU!”

She came very close to bending down and swooping him up into a hug, but she held herself back.

It took Papyrus only a few seconds to look over his shoulder, back at the other skeleton who still lay on the rug. “AND MY BROTHER?” he asked, turning to her.

Toriel looked to One, whose eyes hadn’t left her the entire time.

“How does ‘Comic Sans’ sound to you?”

He was silent. For once, he didn’t look to his brother. He just stared at her, for at least half a minute, not saying a word.

Then he looked back to the book in front of him. “’s a little long.”

She hummed. “What about just … Sans?”

He glanced at Papyrus, hesitated, then gave a very slight nod.

“okay.”

Toriel let out a quiet sigh, her smile so wide it hurt her cheeks. Papyrus looked ready to burst from excitement.

“SANS! I LIKE IT! IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU, BROTHER.” Sans looked at him, then away a second later, just as Papyrus’s head shot up in realization. “OH! SHOULD I CALL YOU ‘SANS’ INSTEAD OF ‘BROTHER’ NOW?”

Sans’s permanent smile didn’t change, but Toriel swore his eyesockets looked just a bit softer. “nah, bro. i like it when you call me that.”

“OKAY,” Papyrus replied, grinning once more. “BUT I WILL STILL CALL YOU ‘SANS’ SOMETIMES. IT IS A GOOD NAME, AND IT DESERVES TO BE USED.”

The tension that had held Sans’s frame constantly taut since the first moment she saw them seemed to slip, just for a moment, and in that second, if only for that second, he actually looked happy.

“yeah … papyrus.”

Papyrus giggled, a bright, loud, wonderful sound.

“PAPYRUS! THAT’S MY NAME!”

She stayed with them for a few more minutes, listening to Papyrus say his name over and over, testing it out, getting used to it, and repeating Sans’s name almost as much. Sans said very little, but he watched Papyrus with rapt attention, and for once, when he looked at Toriel, she saw not a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

Papyrus didn’t stop grinning for the rest of the day, and Toriel found her own smile locked in place almost as much.

Sans and Papyrus. Papyrus and Sans.

Her children.

They still had a long way to go. But just for a while, sneaking glances at them whenever she got the chance, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be alright.


	14. Day 22: Imagine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Papyrus-centric chapter this time! I love my little Paps ... unfortunately, this is a Handplates story, which means I also hurt him a lot. 
> 
> Oh, and thanks so much to everyone who wished me good luck on skydiving! The weather didn't permit it on Saturday after all, but I'm scheduled to jump in three weeks. And just to be clear, I was joking in my last author's note; the place I'm going with is very safe and excellently rated, so I'm not worried that I won't be back to finish this fic. :)
> 
> _410 kudos and 330 comments, you guys are so amazing I don't even know what to say._
> 
> And before I leave you to the chapter, I am so incredibly happy to present to you [THIS BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK](http://aminoapps.com/page/undertale/8340301/a-secret-family) by the marvelous Garnet_Tyger! Again, thank you so so so so much for drawing this. I'm tremendously honored. Everyone, marvel at the pretty!!

She had just put a pie in the oven when she noticed Papyrus lingering in the kitchen doorway, his hands behind his back.

While Sans remained impossible to read most of the time, she had just about mastered Papyrus’s expressions. This one sat somewhere between “excitement” and “fear.”

She schooled her face as soft as she could make it.

“Yes, Papyrus?”

He brightened at his name. She had used them as often as she could in the past few days. Because she liked the sound, because _they_ liked the sound, because it was the only way she knew to make up for lost time.

Papyrus fidgeted, then brought his hands out, holding up a piece of paper.

It took her less than a second to recognize him and Sans sitting in front of the fireplace, while Toriel herself sat in her chair.

The smile hurt her cheeks.

“Oh, Papyrus, it’s beautiful,” she said, bending down to see it better. “It’s the most beautiful picture I’ve seen in years.”

And it was. Though not quite as beautiful as the smile that stretched across Papyrus’s face, his eyes sparking with a faint orange glow.

“REALLY? YOU LIKE IT?”

“Of course,” she whispered, taking it in careful hands and forcing back the tears prickling at her eyes. When was the last time a child had drawn something for her? When was the last time she had felt this indescribable _warmth_ in her chest?

She stood again, drawing in one hand.

“I think this deserves a place of honor.” She opened a drawer, pulled out some tape, and, with the utmost care, held the drawing to the fridge door, placing small pieces of tape on each of the four corners. She turned to smile at Papyrus again. “Only the best artwork goes on the refrigerator.”

Papyrus beamed.

He kept drawing all the rest of the afternoon.

Each time he brought his work to her, and each time she put it on the fridge, until there was no more room on the fridge and she had to start pinning it to the wall. She didn’t mind. She treasured each one, each careful depiction of her or Sans or Papyrus himself. It was only on the twelfth, which she found abandoned on the sitting room floor just before dinner, that her smile slipped.

Instead of two small skeletons and one large goat monster, she saw two small skeletons, in striped sweaters, standing in front of a big skeleton, dressed in a familiar black sweater and white lab coat, glasses taped to the sides of his head.

Over the head of the big skeleton, written in Papyrus’s signature scrawled uppercase, were several lines of speech.

I’M SORRY. I WON’T DO BAD THINGS ANYMORE. LET ME TAKE OFF YOUR PLATES AND WE WILL GO OUTSIDE TOGETHER.

All three of them were smiling.

Toriel stood there for a very long time, staring down at the words, at the stick-figure skeletons. At the plates so carefully drawn on the hands of the smaller two. The plates she tried very hard not to look at it, and the plates both boys had tried very hard to hide.

Then she swallowed, set the drawing back down, and called the boys out of their room for dinner.


	15. Day 26: Defy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're never going to stop being incredible, are you? :) Seriously, thank you for all the wonderful feedback. 
> 
> On that topic, I wanted to let you all know that I may be taking a bit longer to reply to comments from now on. While I normally try to get to comments within a day or two, I've found that I actually spend so much time replying to them that I don't have much time to write. XD I really, really love chatting with you guys and definitely want to keep doing so - I just want to make sure I can still put out new content for you as well!
> 
> And without further ado, here's a Sans chapter!

Sans was trying to make her angry.

That was the only explanation she could come up with. Because she _knew_ he understood the minimal instructions she gave, and the explanations as to why they were important. She _knew_ he could be careful with delicate objects. She _knew_ he was far more intelligent than he let on.

So there was no other reason for him to go against every small instruction she gave to him, for him to break something new at least once a day, for him to act like he had forgotten what she said or didn’t get it.

At first, she considered whether she was demanding too much of him. She tried not to ask anything except for what was necessary to keep the house standing and everyone safe. But even the smallest requests were not only ignored, but intentionally refused. Ask him to be careful around a lamp, and even if he hadn’t noticed the lamp before, he would break it not an hour later. Ask him to turn the water off when he’s done, he turned it on full blast and left it there. The only thing she was sure he would not do, no matter what she did or didn’t say, was hurt his brother.

She noticed it. But somehow it took her days to recognize it.

It should have clicked the very first time.

Because that was how Chara had acted for more than a week after they first fell down.

They had never told her exactly what happened to them on the surface. They never said why they climbed Mt. Ebbot. But she heard murmurs, from them, from Asriel, that they hated humanity. That they didn’t want to go back. That they never wanted to see any humans again.

And though they seemed comfortable enough around Asriel, it had taken them far longer to warm up to Toriel or Asgore.

Whenever she came into a room, they watched her. They watched her interactions with Asriel, but avoided her themself as much as they could. When she began to suspect they were afraid of her, she had promised she would never harm them. Like she had promised Sans and Papyrus.

And like Sans, they had begun doing everything to test her patience.

And they watched her. They watched to see whether she would break her promise. They watched to see whether she would hurt them if they went far enough.

It had taken them a very, very long time to realize that the worst they would get was a sigh and an explanation as to how they could do better next time.

They broke things. She cleaned up the mess. They screamed at her. She kept her voice gentle and calm. They hit her, once. She never hit back.

She almost cried on the day they insulted her, then came back an hour later, unprompted, and apologized.

Sans had been here less than a month. And she doubted what Chara had gone through was as bad as the horrors he had survived.

Toriel had all the time in the world. And if she needed every minute to help this child heal, she would do it.

Of course, no matter how much she repeated that to herself, it did very little to help the initial shock when she walked into the sitting room, ready to start dinner, and found crayon all over one of her walls.

Up to a certain height, that is. Half the crayons had been worn down to nubs, and the white wall had been almost covered in scribble-drawings.

Sans stood in front of it, watching her.

And for the first time, without a hint of doubt, she saw it.

Apprehension. Fear.

Expectation.

She took a deep breath and let out a soft chuckle.

“That’s a lovely drawing,” she said. “I think I would have preferred it on the fridge, though. If you need a larger workspace, I’d be happy to provide one. We’ll have to make sure and take a picture of it before we clean the wall.”

Sans stared. And he stared more. He looked at the wall, then at her, his browbone furrowed, his permanent smile tight. Toriel just gave him one more smile, as well as a longer look at the wall behind him—it actually was a rather nice drawing, now that she paid attention to it—before walking into the kitchen.

Half a minute later, she heard the telltale patter of bony feet on the floor of the sitting room, quickly followed by a huff of frustration.

“SANS! TORIEL ASKED US TO ONLY DRAW ON THE PAPER!”

“huh,” Sans muttered, his tone casual, the fear from a minute ago gone. “guess i forgot. sorry, bro.”

Toriel could almost see Papyrus crossing his arms over his chest and offering a disapproving frown. “UGH! WELL, WE SHOULD HELP HER CLEAN IT UP. COME ON, SHE SHOWED ME HOW TO USE SOAP WITH RAGS YESTERDAY. I WILL HELP YOU.”

As the two pairs of footsteps skittered toward the bathroom, Toriel snuck out, grabbed her camera, and snapped a photo of the wall, just as promised. And as soon as she had dinner mostly prepared, ready to be cooked with fire magic, she slipped into the sitting room to find both skeletons standing in front of the wall, already mostly scrubbed clean.

Sans refused to look at her when she stepped in to help them, and when she led them both in to the kitchen for dinner, he followed without a word.

She hung the photo of his wall drawing next to all of Papyrus’s.

She caught Sans staring at it three times before they went to bed.


	16. Day 29: Creep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been asking for this chapter for quite a while now, so I hope you enjoy it. :) (Also, you continue to be amazing. Absolutely amazing. Just ... yeah, you get the picture.)
> 
> I tried, I _really_ tried to do WingDings, but I just couldn't figure out the code. Ah, well. Maybe later.

When she finally heard it, the knocking sounded tired, exasperated, as if the one making the noise had almost given up. Toriel stared at the door for a good minute, listening to the occasional knocks, before she finally brought herself out of her trance—she had only come down here to dust, she hadn’t expected to _hear_ anything—and cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

“ ~~Lady Toriel?~~ ”

It had been years since she had seen him, but she would recognize that incomprehensible voice anywhere, as much as she had tried to forget.

“… Dr. Gaster?”

A pause. Then a heavy, vaguely relieved sigh. “ ~~I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever answer.~~ ”

She couldn’t understand him, of course, and he must have known. She hesitated. Years ago, when she had first arrived here, she had wanted some sort of extra security. A plan in case someone came to the door. Like a peephole, except she didn’t have the materials to _install_ a peephole.

But she did have magic.

And it had only taken her a few weeks to develop a spell that would allow her to see outside without anyone seeing in.

She put a hand to her forehead, rubbing her temples, and considered whether she really wanted to do this.

Then she focused her magic and waved her hand over the door. A window, perhaps a foot wide, flickered to life, offering her a glimpse into the snowy world beyond the door.

And there he was.

Just as she remembered.

A bit older. A lot more tired. But the same Gaster who she had scolded for his smoking and his eating habits, the same Gaster who had sat like a statue as baby Asriel climbed all over him, the same Gaster who always took time for tea if Asgore requested it.

The Gaster who had drilled metal plates into the hands of two little boys.

Her fingers curled into tight fists.

“I can see you,” she said, and his face, which had been lowered, snapped up so that he almost met her eyes, even if he had no idea he was doing so. Her mouth formed a tight line. “How did you find me?”

His browbone furrowed as he searched the door for any sign of a hole, but a moment later, he gave up with a sigh. Two glowing blue hands appeared near his head.

The hands had holes. Big gaping holes where there had once been palms.

“ _I found strands of white fur in my lab_ ,” he replied. “ _There were only two possibilities, and as I was quite sure Asgore had not been there_ …”

He trailed off. She wondered whether she should say something, but she found nothing to say.

“ _I thought you were dead_ ,” he went on, and for a second, just a second, he was the Gaster she remembered. The lonely, sad Gaster. The one who constantly felt the ache of being one of the only skeletons left in existence. The one who had attached himself to Asgore, to herself, who had clung to them in his odd, distanced away.

Then she saw the boys sitting behind those glowing bars, and her body tightened once more.

“Well, I’m not, and I have no interest in returning,” she bit out. “You didn’t answer my question. How did you _find_ me?”

He ran a hand over his face, forcing his glasses askew. “ _I wouldn’t create something so valuable to my work without a means to find it if it got lost_.”

For a moment, her brow furrowed. Just a moment. That was all it took for the images of those plates, those horrible metal plates, to enter her mind.

She wasn’t a scientist, and she wasn’t much one for technology. But it made too much sense for her to ignore.

Toriel gritted her teeth.

“What are you doing here, Gaster?”

He paused again.

“ _You know why I’m here, Lady Toriel_ ,” he signed. Had his face always looked so clinical, so … she didn’t have a word for it. There was a tinge of embarrassment, guilt, regret, but even at his worst, Asgore had shown multitudes more for his own crimes. “ _I know what you must be thinking, but this work is essential for our kind. All I’ve done, I’ve done for the good of all monsters. Those experiments_ —”

 _“Experiments?!”_ she burst. Flame sparked around her hands, and it took all she had not to swing the door open and aim a few hard blasts at his head. “They are _children_!”

“ _They are_ things _._ ” Something like irritation leaked into his expression. “ _I_ made _them_!”

It was a wonder Toriel’s claws hadn’t cut holes in her palms from how tightly she squeezed them. “And I made Asriel. Did that give me the right to do to him a _fraction_ of the repulsive crimes you’ve committed against those boys?!”

Silence. He closed his eyes, face pinched. How could she have thought he looked like the same man? There was hardly a single similarity. The man who stole her marshmallows and the man who tortured children, who had come here to try to convince her to let him do it again …

At last, he sighed.

“… _no, of course not_ ,” he signed. “ _But … Asriel was born a monster. Those two were created artificially for the sole purpose of_ —”

“If you don’t shut your mouth right now, Gaster, I will come out there and shut it for you.”

And to his credit, he stopped—even though it was magical hands rather than his literal mouth. Toriel forced her hands to relax and brought one to her forehead. Was this really happening? Had things really come this far?

Gaster sighed again, though this time, it was more of an impatient huff.

“ _Lady Toriel … those subjects are invaluable to my work. I can’t make more. If I don’t get them back, if you don’t return them,_ all _my research will_ —”

“Does Asgore know?” she cut in.

Another pause. “ _I’m sorry_?”

The weight of her words didn’t hit her at first, but once they did, she grew almost desperate. “Does Asgore know what you did to them?”

“ _… no. No one does_.”

Something deep inside her relaxed. She hated herself for it.

She held her head higher and straightened her brow.

“And why would you keep that a secret? If they’re so _essential_ to our salvation?” she hissed, more sarcasm in her tone than she had thought she was capable of. “If monsters have truly become so cruel as to allow two _children_ to be tortured for the sake of our freedom, then perhaps we deserve to stay trapped down here.”

Gaster said nothing, simply staring at a spot near her eyes, and for a moment, she feared he might actually try to break down the door. She wouldn’t have imagined it before, but now? And she might have assumed she could fight him if she had to, but when was the last time she checked his stats? If he did all those things to those boys, what must his LV be? What if he tried to kill her and take the boys?

The door rattled, like he had tried to push it, and she flinched. Then she widened her stance and stood her ground. If she died fighting him back, at least she would have given the boys a chance to run.

But the door didn’t rattle again.

Gaster groaned, exasperated and very, very tired. “ _Lady Toriel, please_ —”

“Don’t,” she bit out, and if the door had been open even a crack he likely wouldn’t have had a skull to talk with. “Don’t you say one more word. You will return to that lab and you will _never_ come back. If you do, I will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to protect those boys. Because if you can’t see what precious, wonderful children they are, then I’ll just have to show them twice as much as I already would have. Now _get away from my door._ ”

She waited. She waited for the shout, for the shove on the door, even for him to blast her away with power she didn’t know if he really held.

But after a minute of nothing, two minutes, three minutes of him staring at the door, at _her_ , his eyes closed, and his head hung. He turned around, and slowly, his form began to retreat, his footsteps crunching in the snow. And finally, silence once again. Toriel squeezed her eyes shut and opened them once more.

Then she let out a shuddering breath and turned around.

Two pairs of eyesockets stared back at her from just down the hall.

She didn’t wonder how long they had been there. Whether they had followed her from the beginning and just stayed hidden, or if they had only heard the last bit. They were there, and with their penchant for eavesdropping, she shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was.

All the tension that had built up within her dissolved as she watched their faces, Papyrus’s surprise, adoration, mixed with an odd sadness, Sans’s suspicion faded to outright confusion, as if she had just shattered everything he knew about the world.

She could have said anything then. She could have repeated everything she had said, but to them, _for_ them. But it wouldn’t have made a difference. And even when she searched within her for the anger toward their tormenter, all she could find, looking at them now, was love.

She gave a small, solemn smile.

“How about we have some pie?”

Sans flinched. But Papyrus’s eyesockets widened, a tiny smile quirking the corners of his mouth. It didn’t wipe away the sadness. Nothing she could say or do would make Gaster’s words—surely loud enough for the boys to make out—disappear.

But it was a start.

She moved back toward them, and as she passed, holding out her hand, Papyrus took it. Sans, as usual, ignored the one she offered to him. But as they walked, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her with something just a little softer than the hard stare he had given her thus far.

Her smile grew.

Yes. It was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be absolutely clear, yes, Gaster saw Toriel on his surveillance cameras, on top of the strands of fur and him tracking the plates. But he's not too keen to give her anything else that makes him sound ... even more horrible than he already is. He knows there's no way she missed the plates.
> 
> And he's not stupid. He knows the chances of her giving him the boys back is as close to none as he can get. Which is why it took him a month to even try.


	17. Day 36: Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hlfahhfkshtelihalf 46 NEW KUDOS?! IN FOUR DAYS?!?! I ... don't even have anything to say to that. _Wow_.
> 
> Just to confirm something from the last chapter: part of the reason Gaster didn't try to fight his way in isn't just because he thinks he would lose to Toriel. It's because Toriel, like Asgore, is one of the few people he retains some form of attachment to. He's mad at her for leaving, in a way, but I always got the impression she was a bit like a mom to him, and though Gaster is really, really far gone, he retains enough sense of his original self not to be willing to hurt her. At least in my interpretation of Handplates canon - obviously Toriel didn't show up there. ;)
> 
> For those of you who've read _Bandages_ , I actually wrote this chapter before I even considered writing that story. So even though this scene has been paralleled several times in _Bandages_ , _this_ is the original. :) After all the angst that has already come (and the angst coming soon ...), here's some pure unadulterated HAPPY.

Neither of the boys said a word about her conversation with Gaster, and she did not bring it up.

But Papyrus seemed to have taken a good-sized leap in his comfort around her, and even Sans looked at her a little differently, though she still couldn’t read his expressions.

She finished the clothes she had been making for them, and both of them eagerly switched out their striped sweaters for robes. A part of her ached to see them in those stripes, but somehow, the robes seemed to suit them more.

They weren’t Asriel or Chara. They were Sans and Papyrus, and they weren’t here to remind her of two children she would never see again.

If they wanted robes, they would have robes.

She had just stood up from a long reading session, thinking about what she might make for lunch, when she heard the telltale clicking of bony feet on the floor behind her.

The second she turned, Papyrus stopped, gazing up at her with wide sockets as he wrung his hands.

Her face softened.

He cleared his throat.

“UM … TORIEL?”

She smiled. “Yes, Papyrus?”

“CAN I … CAN … I …” He looked down, then glanced over his shoulder. Toriel noticed Sans poking his head out from around the corner of the hallway. Papyrus looked back to her, head a little higher than before. “CAN I HAVE A HUG, PLEASE?”

Toriel blinked. It seemed like such an odd question. Had Asriel ever _asked_ for a hug? Or had he just held his arms out expectantly, or tackled her in an embrace?

She supposed she would have to get used to odd questions for a while.

Even as her SOUL ached, she held her smile firm.

“Of course you can, my child.”

Papyrus’s eyesockets lit up, and this time, she knew she caught a hint of an orange glow. “REALLY?”

She couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. “Yes, of course.”

His smile stretched all the way across his skull. He shifted toward her, then paused, unsure.

Toriel just gave him another smile—albeit a little sad—and leaned forward to pull him into an embrace.

She kept it gentle, at first, as much as she wanted to squeeze the daylights out of him. She didn’t know how much would scare him. But after only a second, he squeezed her back, so hard she felt his little bones digging into her torso. She held him tighter still.

He was so small. So eager and affectionate. His cheek rubbed up and down against her middle, as if to appreciate every small sensation, and when she reached up to smooth a hand over his skull, she felt his tiny body relax. He let out a trembling, almost relieved sigh as he nuzzled closer, growing more confident with every second she didn’t push him away.

If he had asked for it, she would have held him until they both collapsed.

She shifted her hand on his head in a small, careful massage, like Chara had liked her to do. His smile widened, and his hold against her tightened further.

How had Gaster ever even thought of causing him pain?

The feeling of eyesockets locked on her was so familiar at this point that she almost didn’t notice it, but she still found herself looking up after a minute of silence. Sans still stood in the entrance to the sitting room, watching. That suspicion hadn’t quite left his eyes, but now, she caught a hint of something else. Something she wondered if even his brother would be able to read.

She smiled at him, and he flinched, gaze hardening before it returned to Papyrus, and softened once more.

It took five minutes for Papyrus to pull away, and when he did, it was with a smile so big it must have hurt him, tears brimming at the corners of his sockets.

He asked for hugs six more times that day, and every time, Toriel happily granted them.


	18. Day 50: Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. Just ... yeah, WOW. Yeah, I'll just leave it at that. Thank you so much.

It had only been a fall.

That was it. It shouldn’t have hurt him like this. But he had always been “fragile,” and even falling down a set of stairs in the Ruins was enough to put a notable dent in his HP. Not to mention a good-sized crack in his arm.

But it was easy to hide, especially with his new robes. He had to avoid wincing when he moved it too fast, but otherwise, both Toriel and his brother were none the wiser. He kept it to himself, and waited for it to heal, just like all the injuries he had received at the lab.

It had been two days, and the crack was still there. Hardly any better.

And two days was enough time for him to forget to pull his sleeve down before Papyrus walked into their room.

“BROTHER?” Sans ducked his head, but couldn’t hide his arm fast enough. The horrified gasp made his nonexistent gut twist. “BROTHER! YOU’RE HURT!”

Sans waved him off, unfortunately with his bad arm, making him wince again. “nah. it’s not that bad.”

But his brother had already rushed forward, taking the arm in careful hands to look it over.

“WHEN DID IT HAPPEN? DOES IT STILL HURT?”

“it’s fine,” Sans muttered, unable to force much reassurance into his tone. “dont worry about it.”

He looked up, trying to smile, but his brother just stared at him, his browbone tilted in concern. Then, after a few seconds, the bone set in a straight line, and his eyes gleamed with determination. He took Sans’s other hand and pulled him to his feet.

“COME ON. WE SHOULD GO SHOW TORIEL.”

Sans flinched.

“w-what?” he stammered. Before they reached the door, he pulled back, shaking his head. “no. no, i … i dont need her. im fine. ‘sides, you can heal me just fine.”

Papyrus paused. Sans knew he was right, and he waited for his brother to just admit it and take care of the injury like he always had.

But a second later, he pulled again, stepping into the hall.

“I THINK TORIEL SHOULD LOOK AT IT FIRST.”

Sans shook his head harder, but he couldn’t resist his brother’s strength as he continued walking. Not unless he wanted to detach his arm, and however much he wanted to, he wasn’t going to do that now.

“no … bro, please.” It sounded like begging. Maybe it was. “i dont want her to—she—youve healed way worse than this, you can—”

His voice broke off with a huff. Papyrus stopped, turning around to face him. They were already a couple of yards away from their bedroom. But they could still go back.

Papyrus hadn’t looked so sad in a very long time.

“BROTHER …” He gave Sans’s hand a warm, firm squeeze. “SHE ISN’T GOING TO HURT US.”

Sans’s face pinched. He looked away. “we dont know that.”

He felt his brother’s gaze on him, boring into him in the way no one else had ever been able to. Understanding him, _seeing_ him, like Toriel, despite all her trying, never really had. Like He had never even tried to do.

“DO YOU TRUST ME?”

Sans grimaced. That was playing dirty, even if Papyrus didn’t know it. Because there was only one answer Sans could give. “yeah.”

Papyrus squeezed his hand again, firm and reassuring, like he had so many times in that cell, promising him that everything would be alright.

“PLEASE,” he said, so gentle, so sure. “COME WITH ME.”

Sans let out a long, heavy sigh. Then, eyes on the floor, he followed his brother into the sitting room.

He heard the knitting needles clicking before he saw the furry white feet at the bottom of the chair. He didn’t look up.

“TORIEL?” his brother asked.

The clicking stopped. “Yes, Papyrus?”

Papyrus rubbed his thumb over the bones of Sans’s wrist.

“MY BROTHER GOT HURT.”

“Oh!” Toriel stood and approached them, her voice so tinged with concern it hurt to listen to. “I’m so sorry, my child. Please, let me see.”

She knelt in front of them, but she waited for Sans to hold out his arm before she looked any closer. He flinched when she took it in her grasp, but she was gentle, and made sure not to hurt him as she looked over the bone.

He had never known an examination not to hurt before.

“Hmm … that doesn’t look too bad. It must hurt, though,” she murmured after a minute. “May I heal it for you?”

His browbone furrowed as he finally dared to look up. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that she asked him. She asked permission for _everything_ with them. But it still sounded weird.

He felt the warmth of his brother’s hand in his. Carefully, slowly, he nodded.

Toriel smiled. Then she settled one hand over the cracked bone, so softly that all he felt was the soft tickle of her fur.

Then her hand began to glow.

It didn’t look like his own healing glow, or his brother’s. But it felt … almost the same. Warm. Soothing. Like a blanket wrapped around him, shielding him from pain, from fear.

It felt nice.

And the second that realization crossed his mind, it stopped.

Toriel removed her hand, and when he looked down, he saw the crack in his arm entirely gone, bone so smooth he couldn’t even tell where it had been.

She smiled. “There. I think that should do it. How does that feel, my child?”

Sans wanted to speak, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He brought his arm from her grasp and held it close to his torso. Only his brother had ever healed him like that. Only his brother had ever been so careful with him.

At his side, Papyrus beamed.

“THANK YOU SO MUCH, TORIEL! I THINK MY BROTHER FEELS MUCH BETTER NOW!”

Toriel chuckled. “I’m very glad. Just let me know if it starts hurting again, will you not?”

Sans nodded without thinking. Toriel watched them for a second longer, then stood up, dusted off her robes, and returned to her chair.

Papyrus led Sans back to their room, and Sans remained silent and thoughtful.

His brother didn’t stop smiling all afternoon.


	19. Day 53: Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _600 kudos holy crap you guys._ O.O
> 
> So, um ... remember that angst I mentioned? Well ... here you go. I promise it won't last too long?

It had taken her more than a month to be sure of it. Sans was exceptionally good at hiding things he didn’t want her to see. But she had been both a mother and a queen, and she _knew_ when something was wrong, whether the person wanted to tell her or not.

And there was something wrong with Sans’s right eye.

Most of the time, there was nothing to show it. He seemed to see fine, never running into walls or failing to notice someone standing on his right side. But whenever she showed them a picture or a book or anything interesting they had to get close up to see, he always stood so his left eye got the full view. And Papyrus made sure of that, too.

He relied more on sound to sense someone approaching him on his right than his left. When he leaned in to see something closer, he tilted his head in on the left. All behaviors she had seen in the rare monster who lost part of their vision.

But what confirmed it, without a doubt, were the times she saw him glow.

He didn’t often, not around her. But occasionally, he didn’t notice her in time to stop. And of course, there had been that incident when she found them outside, and only one of Sans’s eyed glowed in fear. While she still only knew so much about skeletons, she was quite sure that both of their eyes were meant to glow.

And Sans’s right eye always remained dark.

She didn’t bring it up at first. She wanted to preserve his privacy as much as possible. But at last, she realized that if she didn’t ask, he would probably never say.

So one evening, in that quiet time just after dinner, she did.

“Sans?”

Sans looked up from the picture book he had been flipping through with Papyrus, browbone raised. “mm?”

She hesitated. Then she sat up straighter and put on her gentlest face.

“I’ve … noticed something. If you don’t want to talk about, it’s fine, but if you’re comfortable, I wanted to ask you …” She trailed off as he stiffened. Papyrus looked up from the book, glancing between them in concern. But she had already waded in. She couldn’t well back out now. She took a deep breath and finished, “Do you have … trouble seeing?”

Sans’s sockets went completely dark. His whole body froze. She could barely see him breathing. Papyrus’s eyes immediately began to glow orange, almost bright enough to overpower the fire, as he scooted closer to his brother and put an arm around his shoulders.

Then he looked to her, his face sadder than she had seen yet.

“HE … HE DID SOMETHING,” he said. Neither he nor Sans had ever given Gaster a name, but rarely did they need to. “AND IT … IT BROKE MY BROTHER’S EYE. HE SAID HE DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT, BUT …”

He trailed off and held Sans tighter.

Toriel almost wanted to let it go there and then. It was too painful, and it was still too early in their relationship for her to push. But if there was a chance, even a _tiny_ chance …

“May I ask which eye?”

She was already almost certain, of course. But if she actually went through with the idea churning in her head, she couldn’t risk assuming. She waited several seconds as Sans avoided her gaze, sockets still dark, but eventually he made a vague gesture toward his right eye.

She nodded. “Do you know how long it’s been?”

He shrugged. No, she probably should have known. Living down there, she wondered if they even had a concept of days.

Yet again, she hesitated, but finally worked up all her courage and stood from the chair. Both boys followed her movements as she sat down on the rug in front of them.

“Well … I can’t say whether it would help … my magic doesn’t work as well on older injuries,” she began, very gently. “But … I could try healing it for you. If you’d like.”

The tiniest of lights flickered into Sans’s sockets, and he stared at her, gaping as much as a child whose mouth was sealed into a permanent grin could. But if Sans couldn’t react properly, Papyrus did it twice over for him, his concerned frown breaking into an eager, hopeful grin. He pulled his brother against him in what was almost a full hug.

“BROTHER. BROTHER, LET HER TRY. IT … IT COULD HELP. MAYBE YOU COULD SEE AGAIN, MAYBE YOU COULD … GLOW.”

Sans flinched, squeezing his sockets shut, his smile tighter than she had ever seen it. He looked at his brother, then at her, then down at the floor.

At last, after what felt like five minutes of silence, he huffed a sigh and gave a small but definite nod.

Papyrus beamed.

Toriel smiled, and with the utmost care, scooted closer until she sat just in front of him, near enough to touch.

He had grown more comfortable with close proximity as the weeks went past, especially considering how willing Papyrus was to hug her multiple times a day. But he still tensed when she put her hands over his eye, as if he had to fight an overwhelming instinct to pull away. Papyrus put a hand on his shoulder, letting his glow create a soft, soothing aura to surround his brother.

Sans relaxed, if only a little.

Toriel look a deep breath, gathered the magic in her hands, and began.

She had long lost count of how many wounds she had healed, before the war, during, and after. Each one was a little different, as she learned to work with the individual monster’s magic and found how to best encourage her own magic to work in sync with theirs, healing the wound with their combined strength.

This one, she felt from the first second, was different.

It was deep. Very deep, so deep she almost didn’t know where to start. She focused her magic, searching for the spark within Sans to heal himself, offering her own power to help him. She poured in all the energy she could manage, far more than she had offered for any but the worst injuries in others.

Only when the strain started to grow painful did she finally stop.

She opened her eyes to Sans staring back at her.

As soon as she pulled away, Papyrus was on him, pushing his face close to his brother’s and glowing, his mouth curved into a hopeful smile. Sans looked at him, his hands trembling, his smile tight, but his sockets bright and wide.

He glowed back.

His left eye, and _only_ his left eye, glowed back.

It felt like being stabbed in the stomach ten times in a row.

Papyrus’s smile fell, but Sans’s eyes had already gone dark, even the pinpricks of light gone once again. Toriel pursed her lips, cursed everything she knew and herself twice over. Then she reached out a gentle hand, ready to rest it on his shoulder, pull him into a hug, do something, _anything,_ to ease the silent pain swirling in those sockets.

“My child, I … I’m sor—”

But Sans reached up and smacked her hand away.

Toriel only flinched a bit. It wasn’t like she had never been hit before. Sans had thrown that bone at her after a nightmare, after all, and she had been around enough angry, overwhelmed children who saw no other way to express themselves but to shove everyone away as hard as they could.

But Papyrus stared at him in horror and concern, his abhorrence of violence warring with his worry for the person who meant more to him than anyone in the world.

“BROTHER?”

Sans met Toriel’s eyes with his empty sockets, now brimming with tears.

“stop it. just stop it, ok? you dont know anything. you dont know how much it …” He choked back a sob, shaking his head as he pushed himself to his feet on wobbly legs. “just leave me alone. im fine! i was fine before i met you and id be fine without you! so stop tryin to make things better, you cant fix me, NO ONE can fix me, so just LEAVE ME ALONE!”

And before she could even think of responding, he scrambled out of the sitting room and down the hall.

“BROTHER!” Papyrus called, but Sans was already long gone. He looked back to Toriel, his sockets wide. She could already make out a few tears slipping down his cheekbones. He stood, almost as shakily as his brother, his head swinging back and forth. “I’M SORRY, TORIEL. HE IS … HIS EYE, IT …”

Toriel sighed. At least with Papyrus, she knew what to do.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a quick rub.

“Don’t worry about it, Papyrus. Please. Go to him.”

Papyrus hesitated a moment longer, giving her a solemn, silent nod. Then he scampered off toward their bedroom. The last sound she heard was the door clicking shut.

She sat on the rug for a long time after that, simply trying to process all the pain, all the anger, against herself, against the world. All the blinding fury toward Gaster for doing this to a child. After half an hour and several fireballs aimed into the crackling wood in the fireplace, she stood and walked to the kitchen, where the pie she had made the day before still sat, half-finished.

She cut two large slices and plated them, then carried them down the hall to the boys’ room. She knocked, and Papyrus’s voice, far quieter than usual, called her in.

When she opened the door, she found the lamp off, but the darkness of the room chased away by the orange glow emanating from Papyrus’s eyes.

Sans lay curled in his arms, face pressed to his chest, muffling his sobs, but either ignoring her or completely unaware of her presence. Papyrus lifted his head to meet Toriel’s gaze. Neither of them spoke. She placed the two plates of pie on the end of his bed, and he gave her a tiny, sad smile before she slipped out of the room once again.

Hours later, when she passed their room again on the way to bed, orange light still trickled out from underneath the door.

It was the first time in more than a month that she did not come in to say goodnight.


	20. Day 58: Desperate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the angst last chapter ... and the continued angst in this chapter ... thank you for all your kind words, though. :)
> 
> After this, pure fluff for a couple of chapters!

Sans hadn’t spoken to her in five days.

Not that he had ever spoken to her much in the first place. The only person Sans seemed to speak openly with was Papyrus, and usually when they were alone. The rest of the time, he let his brother do the talking for him. But before, he would at least speak if the situation demanded it, or if he had something important to say.

Now, she had lost even that.

She didn’t take it personally. Or, at least, she tried not to. Years with Asriel—and especially Chara—had taught her to know the difference between “I’m mad at you” and “I’m mad at the situation and I’m taking it out on you.” And she couldn’t really blame Sans for the latter.

It still hurt.

And a part of her wondered whether she should have offered to try healing his eye at all, if it only made it so much worse when she failed.

Even in her limited knowledge of skeletons, she knew how important eye-glowing was for them. She found herself indulging fantasies of what exactly she might do to Gaster if he dared to show his face here again. Or even of leaving the Ruins to seek him out and make him pay.

Those fantasies didn’t last long.

She was too old to believe they would do any good.

Without the boys there to keep her busy—not that they had ever demanded much—she found herself sitting in her chair, reading yet again. She was so engrossed in her book about snails that she didn’t notice Papyrus coming into the room until his loud, clear voice sounded, far more timid than usual.

“TORIEL?”

Toriel looked up and blinked. She closed the book. “Yes, Papyrus?”

“I …” Papyrus fidgeted, standing close to the hall, avoiding her eyes. He seemed to struggle with his words for a few moments before he huffed a helpless sigh. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.”

Toriel placed the book on the little table to her side and sat up straighter. Papyrus still wouldn’t look at her.

“MY BROTHER … HE HURTS SO BAD, HE HURTS ALL THE TIME, AND I CAN’T HELP HIM. I WANT TO HELP HIM, I’D DO ANYTHING TO HELP HIM, BUT HIS EYE IS BROKEN AND NOTHING I DO HELPS AND HE’S SO SAD AND I JUST WANT HIM TO BE HAPPY BUT …”

Tears welled up at the corners of his sockets, and he sniffed as he wiped them away. She found herself wondering if anyone but his brother had ever comforted him when he cried.

How many times had he cried to Gaster? How many times had he been ignored?

Or had he done worse than just ignore him?

Toriel pursed her lips and pushed away the brief image of a well-placed fireball in a certain skeleton’s face.

“Papyrus,” she said, as gently as she could manage. He looked up. “Could you come here, please?”

He hesitated, then crossed the room with slow, careful steps until he stood just in front of her. She wanted to invite him to sit on her lap, but somehow, this didn’t seem the time. As much as she never really stopped wanting to hold him.

“You … glow for your brother, do you not?”

Papyrus straightened. “WHENEVER I CAN.”

“Doesn’t that help?” she asked.

His browbone furrowed in thought.

“I … I THINK SO, BUT …” He shook his head. “I DON’T THINK IT’S THE SAME.”

Toriel found her mind blank, a situation that was becoming all too common since the boys had come into her life. Asriel and Chara had had their own issues, but none like this. None that no adult, let alone a _child,_ should ever have to face.

She paused. She blinked.

And like so many moments in her many years of motherhood, the answer slipped in while she wasn’t looking.

“Do you remember when I visited my child’s grave?” she asked. “When we first came here?”

Some of Papyrus’s deep-rooted concern faded, making way for sad interest.

“YES. YOU SAID THEIR NAME WAS … CHARA?”

“That’s right.”

She pushed back the part of her that wanted to both flinch and cry at hearing the name. She softened her features, imagined the good times, the best times, the smiles and the laughs and the bliss that was never meant to end.

“I had another child, too, you know,” she went on. “His name was Asriel. He died on the same day as Chara.”

Papyrus’s eyesockets went wide.

“OH. THAT’S …” He hesitated, apparently searching his mind for the right thing to say. He laid a careful hand on her knee, and his eyes flickered orange before returning to black. “I’M SORRY.”

It was much easier to smile, looking at that face.

“Thank you,” she replied. She paused once again. “When I lost them … I lost something deep inside me. Something I’ll never be able to get back. No matter what I do, it will always hurt. I lost the two people I loved most in the world. That pain … will never go away. And nothing, no one, can ever replace them.”

He looked down, and his hand on her knee pressed a little harder.

“But there is something that helps.”

At this, his whole face lit up, sadness forgotten, the broken child shifting seamlessly into the eager young boy who helped her cook and clean and did any little task he could get his hands on just to make her day a little easier.

“OH? WHAT IS IT? CAN I GET SOME OF IT FOR YOU?”

Stars, Asriel would have loved him.

“Actually, you can,” she replied, chuckling despite herself. “It helps when I see you smile.”

Eagerness turned to confusion. Surprise. “ME?”

Her eyes softened, and she gave in to the brief impulse to reach out and stroke a hand over his cheek.

“Yes, my child. When I see you and your brother here, safe … even a little happy. It makes it easier. It makes me smile, too.”

Papyrus tilted his head, sockets wide. She sighed.

“It still hurts. I will always miss my children. And there will always be a hole in my life where they once were. But you two make me so happy. You make it easier to bear that pain.” Her voice strained, but there was a joy, a hope behind that sadness. “So just because you can’t give your brother back his eye … it still helps when you glow for him. When you talk to him, when you hug him. When you’re just there beside him. I know you make him happier than anyone else in the world.”

Tears had already appeared on the edges of his sockets, and now they slid down his cheekbones, dripping off his jaw. She might have been concerned, if not for the wide smile that stretched across his face.

Without a word, he climbed into her lap and wrapped his arms around her in a hug, his face pressed into her robes.

And she squeezed him back as tight as she could without cracking his ribs.

It took him a good two minutes to let go. He slipped back onto the floor and wiped the tears from his face, his smile as wide as before.

“HE WAS STILL SAD WHEN I LEFT. I’LL GO GIVE HIM A BIG HUG AND GLOW FOR HIM AND MAKE HIM FEEL BETTER!”

Toriel’s own smile made her cheeks ache. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. And maybe think of something good you’d both like to have for dinner, alright?”

“OKAY!” He turned around and scampered across the room. He had almost reached the hall before he turned to face her again. “OH. TORIEL?”

“Yes?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

Papyrus then gave her the biggest smile she had ever seen, his eyesockets shut in delight.

It was his smile. Not Asriel’s or Chara’s. His.

And it was beautiful.

Then he ran down the hall, and only after she heard the door to his bedroom open and shut did she pick up her book again.

Papyrus came out only once more, to request macaroni and cheese casserole, but instead of asking to help her make it as he did so often, he just went back to his brother. She didn’t mind.

When she poked her head in their room a few hours later to tell them dinner was ready, she found them curled up on their bed, foreheads pressed together, Papyrus’s eyes glowing bright enough to light up the whole room even with the lamp turned off. For once, Sans’s face had completely smoothed out, relaxed and unburdened, his eyesockets closed in sleep.

She slipped out without a word, and waited another half hour before she called them out.

Sans still didn’t speak more than a few words to her during dinner, but she caught him looking at his brother several times, the lights of his eyes soft and filled with love.


	21. Day 74: Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm really running out of ways to say you guys are awesome. ;)
> 
> On to the fluff! I swear, the angst may seem prominent now, but eventually you guys are going to be complaining about all the fluff. And though I _really_ hope this is obvious, THIS IS PLATONIC. MOTHER AND SONS. THAT'S IT.

It took more than two months before she first tucked them in.

She guessed Papyrus would have agreed to it, probably quite eagerly, from the first week. But Sans valued his privacy, and while she doubted he would be able to sleep at all without his brother by his side, he didn’t want anyone else intruding on their space—even after his depression faded and he started talking to her again. Until recently, she had only ever entered their room briefly, to check on them or to clean.

And on top of that, she doubted anyone had ever tucked them in before in their lives.

But to her relief, once she explained the concept, both of them agreed. Papyrus with delight, and Sans with a shrug.

She would broach the concept of a story or a lullaby later.

For the past week, she tucked them in as soon as they were ready for bed, which was usually around eleven—far later than she was used to for children, but she didn’t push them. They changed into their pajamas and climbed into bed, and she tucked the sheets around them, feeling Sans flinch less and less as she moved the blankets.

Usually, she just wished them goodnight and slipped out the door. But tonight, as she began to turn, she heard Papyrus’s voice.

“TORIEL?”

She gave him a soft smile. “Yes, my child?”

He hesitated before tilting his head in his usual gesture of curiosity.

“WHAT'S A KISS?”

Toriel blinked, furrowing her brow. “A kiss?”

“YES. I READ ABOUT IT IN ONE OF THE BOOKS. BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS.”

Would there ever come a day that such little things, such immense deprivations, didn’t break her heart?

She managed to keep smiling, but as she ran the question over in her head, she couldn’t quite find an explanation. How to explain such a simple gesture? How to explain something that had been a part of her life since before she could remember?

“Well, a kiss is … may I show you?”

She didn’t miss the way Sans’s browbone lowered, not as much as it once had, but enough for her to see. Papyrus just nodded.

“OKAY.”

After a moment’s pause, she leaned in—keeping every moment slow—and pressed her lips to the top of Papyrus’s skull. She had lost track of how many times she had wanted to do so, and she couldn’t stop the faint image of Asriel from slipping into her head.

As she pulled back, she found Papyrus’s eyesockets locked on her, wide and curious.

“WOW,” he said. Then he smiled. “SO THAT’S A KISS! IT WAS NICE!”

Toriel felt her lips curling into a smile in return. “I’m glad you liked it. Kisses are … a way for people to show affection to each other. To show you care about them. I’m not sure if skeletons do it, since you don’t have lips, but …”

She trailed off as Papyrus glanced down at his hands, hesitant, before looking back to her.

“CAN … I HAVE ANOTHER?”

She wanted to laugh, though from amusement or joy she couldn’t tell. “Of course,” she breathed, then leaned down and pressed another kiss to his forehead.

He beamed. But before she could pull back further, he fidgeted. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but a second later he leaned up and pressed his teeth to her cheek.

It was strange. Without lips, it felt more like she had been bumped into than kissed, and he didn’t seem to know how hard to press, so he barely touched her.

She wanted to cry and hold him in her arms for the rest of his life.

He watched her as he lay back down. “WAS … THAT RIGHT?”

She beamed.

“That was excellent, Papyrus.”

It felt wrong to compliment a child on their cheek-kissing skills, considering that she had gotten everything from perfectly-executed pecks to kisses that left food on her cheek from Asriel, and all were equally perfect. But the way Papyrus grinned up at her, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

Instead, she kissed him again.

For the next minute, they traded cheek-kisses and forehead-kisses until Papyrus was giggling too hard and Toriel’s smile threatened to break her cheeks. And the whole time, Sans stared at them, his face more unreadable than ever.

She wanted to ask him if he wanted a kiss, too. But he looked away when she met his eyes, so she decided against it.

She gave Papyrus one more quick kiss to the forehead and wished them both sweet dreams. Then she turned off the lamp and started out of the room.

As she closed the door behind her, she glanced back over her shoulder.

Just in time to see Papyrus pressing his teeth to Sans’s cheek.

She might have imagined it, but she swore, for just a second, Sans’s smile was completely real.


	22. Day 87: Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you there was fluff. Behold the fluff!... and savor it, because next chapter, it's back to angst for a while.
> 
> So glad you guys enjoyed the last chapter. :) And on a similarly light-hearted note, [this](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/159171296945/gaster-this-is-very-unethical-man-if-she-knew-why) should not make me laugh as hard as it does.

She didn’t leave the house very often, and when she did, it was never for long. Usually just long enough to pick up some groceries or water the flowers around Chara’s grave.

And to make sure no new humans had fallen. But she hadn’t told the boys that part yet.

Today, she was gone for almost two hours, modifying some of the puzzles so they wouldn’t be quite as dangerous. Really, she couldn’t remember whose idea it had been to put truly threatening puzzles down here. It wasn’t like the humans had been eager to follow them after the War.

When she came back, she expected to find Sans and Papyrus on the sitting room rug, reading or drawing or working on small, safe puzzles. But they weren’t there.

She checked their bedroom. Still nothing.

Panic had just begun to rise in her chest when she stepped into the hall and heard the giggles.

She couldn’t remember if she had ever heard them giggle before. Occasional laughs, certainly, especially when they discovered something new, but real, childlike giggles? It was an odd sound, but it might as well have been the best orchestra in all the Underground for how beautiful it rang in her ears. For nearly a minute, she simply stood there, listening. Then she made her way down the hall, toward the sound, avoiding all the creaky floorboards and stepping light.

The door to her room was open. She was sure she had left it closed. Not that it bothered her: she had told them during their first week that her door was always open to them, day or night. She had long locked away anything she didn’t want seen if the boys decided to snoop.

The giggling got louder as she grew closer, and she slowed her steps, her movements as silent as possible. At last, she reached the doorway, and poked her head forward just enough to make out the inside of her bedroom.

And just as expected, there were both of the boys, standing in front of her open dresser.

Their robes replaced by two of her fancy dresses.

She didn’t have very many. She had only taken the essentials when she left New Home for the Ruins, and she didn’t expect to have much use for fancy dresses living by herself. But it was one of her little luxuries, even if it had been years since she had last put them on.

They draped over the boys’ skeletal bodies like curtains, dragging on the floor as they moved around. Sans had chosen a simple, deep blue one, while Papyrus wore the most extravagant gown she owned, pale pink with sparkles and little jewels. He put his arms out and attempted a twirl, getting caught in the fabric and falling over instead. Both of them paused, staring at each other, before bursting into giggles once again.

“you look real pretty, bro,” Sans said, and despite his laughter, she had no doubt that he meant it.

Papyrus, as expected, beamed as he pushed himself to his feet.

“YOU THINK SO, SANS?” He picked up the ends of the dress and twirled again, more successfully this time. He looked down at his new “outfit” in glee. “MAYBE I’LL ASK TORIEL TO MAKE ONE MY SIZE! THEY ARE VERY NICE! LIKE ROBES, BUT NICER! I BET SHE’D MAKE ONE FOR YOU, TOO!”

Sans wore one of the softest smiles Toriel had seen on his face, tilting his head as he watched his brother in quiet contentment. “nah, ill just stick with the robes.”

Papyrus shrugged. “SUIT YOURSELF.” Then he held the skirt of the dress higher and kept on twirling around the room.

She considered walking in and confirming that, if they wanted, she would find a way to make them fancy dresses. She would even use the fabric from her own dresses if she had to. But she could just imagine them flinching, and spending several minutes reassuring them that she wasn’t mad they had borrowed her clothes. By then, the moment would have passed.

So before they could catch sight of her, she slipped away from the door and back down the hall.

All she could think about for the next ten minutes was how many times she had found Asriel and Chara in her room during quiet afternoons, trying on her dresses and jewelry, snapping pictures with the camera and laughing at how silly they looked in the oversized clothes.

She was still smiling, despite the tears burning her eyes, when Papyrus scampered into the kitchen and asked if he could help with dinner.


	23. Day 91: Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys really are too kind. :) Well, I warned you. Angst ahead! Not quite as bad as last time, though... I think. Depends on how you look at it.
> 
> Trigger warning: blood mention, child death mention.
> 
> EDIT: This is what I get for posting first thing in the morning when I just rolled out of bed. I'm too tired to remember the important stuff. Like THIS AMAZING ARTWORK RIGHT [HERE](https://odderancy.tumblr.com/post/159197262011/i-couldnt-help-myself-i-read-the-last-chapter-of) THAT [DREAMERCATCHERS_AND_CHOCOLATE](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcatchers_and_chocolate/pseuds/dreamcatchers_and_chocolate) DID FOR THIS STORY OH MY GOD IT'S SO PRETTY I LOVE IT!

Rarely could she predict one of the bad times.

She had learned to pick up on their cues, and sometimes she could tell when one of them was becoming more tense, more agitated, more likely to do or say something that shattered her heart yet again. But more of the time, the worst moments happened on days she would have otherwise called completely ordinary.

Today had been a completely ordinary day.

At least, completely ordinary by their standards. It would be a long time, she knew, before either of these boys could live a truly “ordinary” day. But for them, it was good. Both of them seemed to love the cinnamon bunnies she made for breakfast—even Sans muttered a quiet “thanks” before leaving the table. Sans devoured another of the books on her bookshelf while Papyrus solved some number-based puzzles she had given him upon request. Not for the first time, she considered whether she should give them the curriculum she had prepared for the other children, but both of them seemed so engrossed, so motivated by their own interests that she doubted it would do them any good.

Lunch was quiet, but peaceful, and she took the boys out to explore more of the Ruins during the afternoon. Papyrus had mastered most of the puzzles close to the house and was eager to try new ones, and Sans seemed content as long as his brother was happy and nearby. He didn’t speak to her. She told herself she didn’t mind.

She made a new savory pie recipe for dinner. Papyrus helped, and Sans napped in the sitting room, close enough to hear if anything went wrong.

By the time evening arrived, she had already decided that today had been a very good day.

But rarely could she predict one of the bad times. And reading in her chair next to the crackling fire while the boys looked through a book of their own on the rug, she suspected absolutely nothing.

“TORIEL?”

From the moment she heard her name, she knew something was wrong.

Even in the early days, even when he was still nervous and unsure about her, about this new world he found himself in, Papyrus remained eager and enthusiastic. His naturally loud and clear voice glowed as bright as his eyes, beaming with hope for him, for his brother, for everything and everyone.

So it was very easy to tell when that voice dimmed.

She set her book aside and met his eyes, brow tilted in concern.

“Yes, Papyrus?”

He was looking at her, instead of at the floor. That was a good sign, at least. Sans sat at his side, watching him with deep-rooted worry, his left eye flaring bright blue in his best attempt at comfort as one of his hands rested on Papyrus’s shoulder.

Papyrus hesitated, glancing at his brother before turning back to her, his face pinched in such desperate confusion it made her insides twist.

“WHY DID HE HURT US?”

Her heart had shattered far too many times for it to hurt as bad as it did now.

There was no hint of bitterness there. No anger, even though she could feel it rolling off of Sans in waves as his eyesockets went completely dark. Papyrus just tilted his head in that sweet gesture that had wormed its way deep into her SOUL, as if this were one mystery in the world he had tried so hard to solve, but had always failed.

“I MEAN … HE TOLD ME HE HAD TO,” he went on, settling his hands into his lap as his brother gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “THAT HE WAS DOING IT FOR THE GOOD OF EVERYONE. FOR … HIS WORK. BUT … I NEVER UNDERSTOOD.”

He looked down, and she swore he was feeling all the pain, all the torment, every ounce of the helplessness that must have plagued him for so long. But then he looked back up.

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE MEANT? WHY HE DID ALL THOSE THINGS?” At her silence, at Sans’s tightening grip on his shoulder, he scooted forward on the rug, a silent plea for an answer. “HE MUST HAVE HAD A REASON, RIGHT? HE WOULDN’T DO THOSE THINGS UNLESS HE HAD A GOOD REASON, RIGHT?”

_I’m doing this for the good of our kind. I’m sorry._

How long had she and Asgore been married? How long had they been _friends_?

How long had she spent believing that he would never hurt anyone? That the only reason he would ever hurt anyone was in immediate defense of himself or someone he loved? And only ever if they were a genuine threat?

How long had it taken her to believe that the image in her head, the image of him standing over the broken, bloodied body of a human child, was real?

The good of monsterkind.

Was that the excuse Gaster had used, too?

Was that what he told himself every time he heard them scream?

“TORIEL?”

Toriel’s head snapped back up. She blinked, and flinched when she found her eyes wet. Papyrus had gotten to his feet and stood in front of her now, resting a hand on her knee, looking at her with such intense concern it almost made more tears fall onto her cheeks.

His eyes began to glow a soft orange, filling the space around him with a soothing aura. He gave her knee the same careful squeeze Sans had given his shoulder.

“I’M SORRY,” he said. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO MAKE YOU SAD.”

She almost choked, pressing her mouth shut as shook her head. She laid one of her own hands over his. “No, my child. It’s nothing you did. I just …”

It was just what? That the world was cruel and she didn’t know why? That despite centuries of life, she couldn’t explain how one person, monster or human, could harm another and not regret it? That he was an angel, _her_ angel, and she wished she could keep him far away from the rest of the world and make sure no one ever hurt him again?

He looked at her, his eyes so innocent. So loving. How had he suffered such pain and still held onto his kindness? How had he survived atrocities she couldn’t dream of?

He opened his mouth, but before he could get out a sound, she knelt in front of him and pulled him into her arms.

Papyrus flinched, in surprise rather than discomfort. A second later, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her just as tightly. Even now, he seemed to treasure every hug, every touch. As if it wasn’t guaranteed. As if one day, she might decide to push him away.

As if there was something he could do, _anything_ he could do, that would make her stop caring for him.

As if all the suffering he had been forced to endure were somehow his fault.

She opened her mouth, then closed it and held him tighter still.

When she looked up a minute later, she found Sans watching them from the floor, his eyesockets dark, his smile tight with pain. She wanted nothing more than to pull him onto her lap to join his brother, to hold him, to show him that he was loved just as much, that he deserved none of what he had suffered, that if he would only let her, she would keep him close and safe and as happy as he could possibly be.

But that wasn’t her choice to make.

So when Papyrus finally climbed off her lap, smiling once again, she told herself she was content to watch him give his brother an equally tight hug, holding him until his eyelights returned and his smile almost, _almost,_ looked real.


	24. Day 102: Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE ALMOST AT 800 KUDOS HOLY COW. O.O Yeah, wow. So, to celebrate ... slightly less angsty chapter? XD
> 
> Trigger warning: partial panic attack (I don’t think it counts as a full attack, but it sure ain’t pleasant).

“BROTHER! BROTHER, HELP!”

It didn’t matter how long it had been since he had heard those words. It didn’t matter that he had finally begun to relax, if only a little.

His brother’s voice, panicked, afraid, _in pain,_ sent a rush of pure terror racing through Sans’s body, and he found himself on his feet, running, before he even registered standing up from the spot by the wall.

Papyrus had only gone a couple of rooms ahead. Sans had been tired from all their walking, and wanted a quick break, but Papyrus had insisted he wanted to explore just a little more. So Sans agreed to let him go on by himself, as long as he stayed close.

Just a couple of rooms, but Sans swore he had to cross the entire Underground before he finally stumbled to a stop, catching sight of his brother five yards in front of him.

In the middle of one of those spike puzzles.

On the _floor_ of one of those spike puzzles, tears streaming down his cheekbones as his face twisted in pain.

“bro!” Sans stumbled forward, right to the edge of the puzzle, though he didn’t dare step onto it. “what happened?!”

Papyrus looked up to him. His sockets glowed orange, flickering purple, as he gripped his leg, apparently as close to his right foot as he could get.

Wait. Why couldn’t Sans see his foot?

His brother shook his head.

“I … I DON’T KNOW, I WAS JUST GOING THROUGH THE PUZZLE AND THE SPIKES WENT DOWN LIKE USUAL BUT THEN WHEN I WALKED ON IT IT CAME BACK UP AND MY FOOT GOT CAUGHT IN THE HOLE AND IT WON’T COME OUT!”

Sans couldn’t breathe. He lurched forward, ready to run to help him, then stopped. He never did these puzzles. He couldn’t just wander through them with his eyes closed like Papyrus could. If he ran into the spikes, he would be useless, he might _die_ and then he would just be dust and he couldn’t help and his brother would be stuck here and—

“i … what should i …”

His feet moved backward before he realized what they were doing. His brother watched him, so patient, so trusting even as he bit back obvious cries of pain.

Sans glanced toward the door behind them, then at his brother again, hands up in his best attempt at a calming gesture as his left eye glowed blue. “ill come back, i promise, ill come right back!”

There was no protest. No whimper. Just a slight nod.

Then Sans turned and ran.

He had never run this fast. Not since the lab, not since that one failed attempt at an escape. Maybe this was faster. Everything had been so new then, back when they had so few experiences with real pain, back when his brother really thought it might end with the plates, this was now, this was _real,_ he had to help his brother, he had to get—

The house came into sight, and Sans sprinted faster.

He raced through the door, scrambling in the hallway, left or right, what time was it, what was she doing, where was she—

His head turned left, and there she was.

In the sitting room, just in front of her armchair, as if she had stood up as he came in.

He almost collapsed, but managed to lean against the wall, his head spinning and his legs trembling as they struggled to support his weight. Toriel stepped toward him, eyes wide, hands outstretched, and he flinched back. She stopped. He swore he caught a flash of pain cross her face before it vanished without a trace.

“ … help …” he managed, forcing out the word as he sucked in air—he didn’t need to breathe, why did his chest _hurt_? “ … my brother, he … he …”

His sockets burned. Why was he crying? Crying never helped. He could scream, he could sob, but it didn’t matter, it _never mattered,_ no one would come and he couldn’t do anything and his brother would—

Toriel was talking. He couldn’t make out her words, but he saw her running in front of him, toward the door, and even though his legs still burned, he stumbled after her.

He must have moved in front of her at some point, or told her where to go, or maybe his brother was yelling loud enough to draw her attention. He couldn’t think. All he could do was move forward, trying not to collapse, have to get to Brother, can’t let him get hurt, not again, please not again, can’t let anything happen to him—

And they were there.

There was his brother, still trapped in that puzzle, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was saying something, what was he saying, _why couldn’t he hear him why couldn’t he hear anything all he could do was stand there and watch and—_

Toriel was in the puzzle, scurrying through as if she had passed through it a hundred times. She knelt at Papyrus’s side, put one hand on the spike of the puzzle and another on his foot. Sans couldn’t see what she was doing from this distance, he wanted to get closer, he needed to get closer, but his legs wouldn’t move, they hurt, they burned, he wanted to collapse but he _couldn’t._

She shifted something, pulled something else, and with a slight cry, his brother’s foot was free.

Sans’s SOUL stuttered, his eyelights all but gone.

He barely recognized her hands glowing, how they rested on his brother’s foot so gently. Just as gently as she had healed Sans’s arm, just as gently as she had tried to heal his worthless eye. How she murmured soothing words the whole time, her voice as soft as her movements, assuring him that he would be fine, that it must hurt, that she was sorry, that everything was going to be alright.

Then the glow faded, and she pulled away with a soft smile to rest a hand on Papyrus’s shoulder.

“There we go. How does that feel?”

Papyrus looked down at his foot, bent his knee, then stretched out his leg again and wiggled his toes. He grinned. “MUCH BETTER, THANK YOU!”

She smiled wider and nodded.

“You should be just fine,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet as she stood herself. “I think we should avoid this puzzle from now on, though. It seems to be broken.”

“OKAY.”

Sans couldn’t move. All he could do was stand there, frozen, helpless, as she led his brother through the puzzle, back toward him. As soon as they touched solid ground, Papyrus ran to him, pulling him into a hug almost tight enough to make his ribs crack.

“DON’T WORRY, BROTHER!” Even his voice smiled. “EVERYTHING’S FINE NOW! I’M ALL BETTER!”

Sans was shaking. When had he started shaking? His whole body was shaking and he could barely hold himself up and as soon as Papyrus let him go he almost fell over. His brother tilted his head, concerned, eyes glowing bright orange. It was the only thing Sans could feel.

Then Toriel knelt in front of him, just next to his brother. He could see her hand twitch as if to touch him, but when he flinched, she pulled back.

“Sans,” she said, gentle, yet firm enough to ground him, to hold him to what was happening here and now. “Thank you so much for coming to get me. That type of puzzle is very difficult to fix when it malfunctions like that. I’ve gotten my robes caught in it before, and it took me a very long time to get them free. You helped your brother a lot.”

She turned to smile at Papyrus, and Papyrus beamed.

“OF COURSE HE DID! HE’S MY BROTHER! HE ALWAYS HELPS ME!”

But despite his brother’s voice dominating the room, as it always did, Sans couldn’t shift his eyes from Toriel’s face.

He had gone to her.

His brother had been hurt, and he had gone to _her._

When had he _ever_ gone to her for something important? Of his own free will?

He could have—if he had tried, surely he could have helped him on his own—

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even tried.

Because every second his brother was stuck there was one more second he suffered. One more second he stayed trapped. One more second of Sans trying to help him, and probably failing. Just like he had failed him so many times before.

He wasn’t sure whether to bash his skull into the closest wall he could find … or let the relief threatening to rush past his barriers overcome him.

He had gone to her. And she had helped.

His brother was safe. Because she had saved him.

She pushed herself to her feet again, and his brother took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. Sans felt the metal of his plate press against the bone, cold and unforgiving. Then he felt the warmth of his brother’s fingers, and the softness of Toriel’s smile just before she turned and started back toward the house.

Papyrus led him forward, and Sans followed, silent, lost in thoughts he wasn’t sure how to understand.

He didn’t say a word the rest of the afternoon.


	25. Day 110: Admit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's hilarious about the last chapter? Some of you were going on about how happy it was, while others said I betrayed you by saying it wasn't going to be as angsty. That ... is quite a variation. XD Okay, then, I'll be perfectly straight with you for this one: angst ahoy. Choo choo, all aboard the angst train. There is much fluff to come, but first, there shall be angst!
> 
> (In any case, you guys are still amazing and I love you all.)
> 
> Trigger warning: blood and violent death mention.

If there was one thing Toriel had known about Sans from the first day she met him, it was how observant he was.

Papyrus was, too, of course. But in different ways. Papyrus noticed if someone was having a bad day, sometimes even if they themselves didn’t know it yet. When she woke up one morning just a bit irritable, prone to clipped answers and shortened patience, Papyrus, rather than being offended, brought her a drawing he had made and asked her if she wanted to talk about why she was upset.

She ended up going on for an hour about how she missed Asriel and Chara, and Papyrus sat, uncharacteristically quiet, until she finished, only nodding and humming to show he was still listening.

Then, as she held back the tears burning at her eyes, he climbed into her lap and gave her a long, tight hug and a big smile, and told her that it was okay to be sad, and he would always be there to help if she needed him.

They spent the rest of the afternoon making butterscotch pie.

Sans had his own talents. He noticed patterns, noticed when something was off. He noticed when something had yet to be explained, or when someone had intentionally avoided explaining it. He noticed holes in stories. And he noticed when there was something about a story someone didn’t want to admit.

So perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised when, late one morning in the sitting room, he broke the comfortable silence with the most obvious question of all.

“why did you come here?”

Toriel tensed, looking up from the sock she had been in the middle of the knitting to find Sans watching her from the floor, in the middle of taking apart another electronic toy, while Papyrus solved a small jigsaw puzzle at his side.

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Sans sat up straighter as Papyrus looked away from his puzzle.

“why did you leave your home?” he asked, with the same quiet yet demanding tone with which he asked everything.

He had grown far less suspicious of her recently, but she still saw one of those sharp looks at least once a day. She pursed her lips as the question registered, and that only made the lights of his eyes grow smaller.

“you lived in the castle before. i heard you talkin about it. but … you left. youd already been gone for a while when you found us, hadnt you?” His tone softened when his brother gave him a hard look, but he didn’t fully relent. “why?”

She almost brushed the question off, made up some silly excuse like she had for every other child who had stayed with her. But Sans wouldn’t have accepted it, even if he quit asking. And if she wanted him to trust her, she supposed she had to start by trusting him.

As painful as it might be.

She sighed, set down her knitting, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Someone I cared about very much … did something very bad,” she said, unable to meet either of their eyes. “He hurt someone who had done nothing wrong. Someone … completely innocent.”

So young. So small. So helpless.

He didn’t have a chance of fighting back. All he could do was stand there and beg and scream for his life, flinging his toy knife from side to side in desperation, never managing a single hit.

Until he fell bloodied to the floor, Asgore—her husband, her partner, her _best friend_ —standing over him, solemn and silent.

She swallowed.

“And I couldn’t stay with him any longer. Not knowing what he had become.”

Neither of the boys said anything for more than a minute. She couldn’t bring herself to look up to see whether the sharp look in Sans’s eyes had faded. And when the silence finally shattered, Sans’s voice wasn’t even the one to do it.

“BUT … THERE MUST HAVE BEEN SOME GOOD IN HIM. RIGHT?”

Toriel looked up. Papyrus watched her, his sockets so hopeful, so certain, a beacon of goodness in a world of shadows. A beacon that couldn’t see that the shadows existed at all.

She hesitated. It would be so easy to say no. So easy to only see that final image of him, only hear him declaring war, insisting that all humans who fall into the Underground must die for the good of monsterkind.

But Papyrus’s eyes made her try just a bit harder.

“I thought there was,” she went on at last, letting her mind drift to earlier times. Times after the war, when staying in the Underground seemed a safer option than trying to return to the Surface. When Asriel was born. When Chara arrived. She leaned back in her chair. “When I knew him, he was … very gentle and kind. He had a good sense of humor, even if he didn’t make very good jokes. He made time for everyone who needed him, for any concern, big or small.”

He always had a smile, for her, for the children, for any monster who needed it. He would always take time out of his schedule, no matter how busy, to share a cup of tea with a guest. To ask over the wellbeing of a friend. To play a silly game with the children. To put on his Santa suit and pass out gifts every year. To care for those he loved.

“IT SOUNDS LIKE HE DID A LOT OF NICE THINGS,” Papyrus said, giving her a hesitant smile.

“Yes,” she murmured, ache and nostalgia cracking her voice. She closed her eyes for a moment, pressed her lips into a hard line, and opened her eyes again. “But that doesn’t change what he did wrong.”

Papyrus, sweet, innocent, ever-determined Papyrus, just furrowed his browbone and tilted his head. “DID HE FEEL BAD ABOUT IT?”

She hadn’t been looking at his face afterward. All she could see was the child, that poor little child, the child he had _murdered._

“I don’t know,” she whispered, because after all this time, she still didn’t.

“DID HE … WANT TO BE BETTER?” Papyrus tried.

Toriel could still hear his soft knocks on her door, begging her to come out, to talk to him. She could still hear her own sobbing voice as she screamed at the injustice of it all, screamed that he couldn’t keep doing this. And he insisted he had no other choice.

“No,” she said, her tone distant and hard. “No, he didn’t.”

Silence again. She hated the idea that she had said something Papyrus genuinely had no response for, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him.

Sans watched his brother, his face an unreadable, smiling mask. Papyrus stared at the floor in deep thought before, at last, he looked up once more.

“BUT THERE’S STILL GOOD IN HIM. THERE MUST BE. THERE’S GOOD IN EVERYONE,” he said. “I BET HE COULD BE GOOD AGAIN. IF HE TRIED.”

Toriel sighed. “Perhaps.”

Papyrus glanced at Sans, then pushed himself to his feet and walked over to her, placing a hand on her knee.

“I KNOW IT’S HARD TO TRY,” he went on, far gentler and wiser than his years should have allowed. “BECAUSE … PEOPLE DO BAD THINGS, AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHY, AND YOU WANT TO HELP, BUT THEY WON’T LET YOU, AND …”

His gaze drifted down to his hand. The hand he had laid against her.

His _right_ hand, with the metal plate glistening in the light of the fire.

“IT HURTS,” he murmured, and for a second, she could hear his pain. _Feel_ his pain. How many times he had endured worse agony than she could even imagine, how many times he had struggled through it and never let go of his hope. He met her eyes again and smiled, with all the love and kindness of one who had suffered the worst but still hoped for the best. “BUT I STILL THINK HE COULD BE GOOD. IF YOU SEE HIM AGAIN, I’LL HELP YOU HELP HIM BE GOOD. OKAY?”

She never wanted to see Asgore again. She wanted to take care of her two new children and make sure that any others who fell down would be safe for as long as possible, even if she couldn’t keep them forever.

But she smiled anyway, and gave him a small nod.

“Alright, Papyrus.”

Papyrus beamed and straightened, hands clasped in front of him. “OH! BUT FOR NOW, CAN I HELP YOU MAKE LUNCH?”

Toriel laughed, and felt all the residual tension flow out of her body like water. “Of course.”

She pushed herself out of her chair and followed Papyrus into the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder only once. She found Sans disassembling—or was it reassembling?—the toy. He looked up long enough to meet her eyes, and gave her a look filled with too many emotions for her to count or name. She smiled, a small, sad smile, and he went back to the toy.

By the time lunch was ready, he was his regular self again, and Toriel let herself forget that there was anything—or anyone—else outside the safe little bubble she had built around them.


	26. Day 129: Fascinate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're more than halfway through this story now, and you guys have yet to stop being amazing. :) Thanks for sticking with me this whole time.
> 
> Friendly reminder that Gaster’s torturous, abusive idea of “science” was considered legitimate scientific study for a good portion of human history, and still is, depending on who/what it’s done on and what part of the world you’re in. All you have to do is convince yourself that it’s necessary, and that the pain of the ones you’re hurting doesn’t matter, or that they don’t feel it at all.
> 
> Oh, and a quick note: despite some of the narrative in this story, I don't hate Asgore. I certainly have _issues_ with him, but I find him complex and interesting, not evil. But in Toriel's mind, he's killed six innocent children, five of which she _personally knew and cared for_. And _nothing_ is going to make her let that go. In her mind, she's already lost two kids, and Asgore is the reason she lost six more.

“can you get a book off the top shelf for me?”

Even after more than four months, Sans could still sneak up behind her—or in front of her while she was distracted—without making a sound, and though she had gotten used to his surprise entrances, she still couldn’t quite stop herself from flinching.

She looked up, blinking, and found him staring up at her with his usual unreadable face, but with something sparking in his sockets that she hadn’t seen before. It took her mind a few seconds to process his question. Her eyes drifted from him to the bookshelf then back to him again.

He could have just pulled up a chair and gotten it himself. But he had asked her for help. And she knew not to take that for granted.

She smiled and pushed herself out of her armchair.

“Of course, my child. Do you know which one you want?”

He followed her to the shelf and pointed—using his left hand, as always. “the big one on the right.”

Toriel stood up to her full height and followed his finger until her eyes landed on the title indicated. Her brow furrowed.

“‘Introductory Physics’ … are you sure?” she asked. “I think this is rather difficult.”

It was one of the few books she hadn’t reread. She had read it once, of course—with so much time on her hands, it was inevitable that she read every book she owned at least once. But though she understood the material, she had never been particularly interested in science at such an advanced level, at least science of that sort. She preferred biology.

But Sans just nodded, without a hint of hesitation.

“yeah. i want that one. please.”

He still had to tack on the “please,” as if it didn’t come naturally. She had never corrected him if he forgot. She doubted he had grown up with many situations that warranted good manners.

She pulled the book down from the shelf and handed it to him, and after making sure he got settled on the rug, she returned to her chair and picked up her own book: one on human history in the nineteenth century that she must have read a dozen times by now.

She glanced up at Sans every minute or so, but after five minutes she noticed that he hadn’t moved past the second page. It was a difficult book, to be certain, but he was a fast reader, and he picked up new vocabulary without difficulty.

Yet he was just laying on his front, staring at the page with an expression that, after all this time, she still didn’t know how to read.

Toriel put down her book once more.

“Do you like science, Sans?” she asked.

Sans shrugged without looking up.

“i dunno.”

There was something a little too tense about his voice, even if she couldn’t quite determine what it was. Her brow furrowed again. “Do you enjoy that book?”

He hesitated, then gave a slow nod, still staring down at the pages. “yeah.”

“Well, that’s one type of science book,” she replied. “There are many types of science, and you certainly might not enjoy them all, but if you like that one, I’m sure I could find some others that you might like as well.”

She had hoped to spark his interest, maybe follow it to see what else he might like to learn, what she could search the Ruins for next time she went out. But his face only pinched further, and he ducked his head even more out of her view.

She sat forward in her chair, but as much as she wanted to, she didn’t get down on the floor to sit beside him.

“Is something wrong?”

Sans clenched his hands into fists, his permanent smile tight and his eyelights almost gone. He huffed through his teeth.

“what he did …” he said, so quietly she could barely make it out. “… he said that was science.”

Toriel’s stomach twisted.

“he said it was … research,” Sans murmured, with more venom, more hate, more pain than a child’s voice ever should have held. He ran his fingers over one of the pages in front of him. “but the stuff in these books, it’s … it’s not like that.”

He looked, for all the world, like everything he knew about how things worked had shattered in front of him, and he wasn’t sure if he was happy, sad, angry or just lost. Like he had been swept up in a tornado and everything was swirling around him and he couldn’t make it stop.

Toriel curled her fingers around the skirt of her robe.

It had been a long, long time since she had been on the Surface. A long, long time since she had been around humans. But while most monsters today had no knowledge of it, she could still remember some of the worst parts of human history, the things that passed for “science” that she would have called “torture.”

She had no idea how much better it had gotten. From the children she had met, she assumed that the worst of it had passed. But she wasn’t willing to assume it was entirely gone.

Sans wasn’t on the Surface, though. He was here, with her.

“Sans …” she breathed, letting her shoulders fall with her breath. “There have been a lot of people, some of them human, some of them monster, who … have a twisted idea of what science means. Science is meant to be a way to understand the world.”

“that’s what he said he was doin,” Sans muttered.

“Sometimes what people say they’re doing isn’t what they’re actually doing,” Toriel replied. Trying to save monsterkind and killing children. “Essential work for our kind” and … She huffed. “Even if he was trying to understand something by … the things he did … that doesn’t make it any less wrong. Any less … horrendous. Science shouldn’t harm anyone in its quest for knowledge.”

For a few seconds, Sans said nothing, staring at the book with such intensity that it was a wonder it didn’t burst into flames. Then, very slowly, he lifted his head to meet her eyes, his browbone still furrowed, but his eyelights a bit wider than before.

“so there are … good scientists,” he said, forming the words like saying them would make them true. “scientists who dont hurt people.”

Toriel smiled, and for once, she didn’t have to struggle for a response. “Yes. Many of them.”

Sans stared at her, searching her face for any hint of a lie. Apparently, he didn’t find one.

The bones of his shoulders relaxed, and with a tiny nod, he looked back to the physics book. A minute later, he finally turned the page.

By that evening, he had finished the first five chapters, and asked her to take down another for him, this one on astronomy.

He had almost no idea what the word meant when he began, but in under an hour, he was rattling off interesting facts to Papyrus, while his brother just beamed at seeing Sans more enthusiastic than he had been about anything in their lives.

And as soon as they were safely tucked in bed, both of Sans’s books on the nightstand, Toriel opened up one of her storage closets and began digging around for every science book she could find.


	27. Day 137: Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. As always, just thank you. :)

Toriel had no idea how long Sans had been standing behind her before she turned around. He had made no sound coming in, and when she finally saw him, she jumped and dropped her wooden spoon, batter splattering all over the kitchen floor.

Sans didn’t even seem to notice it. He just stared at her, his round face so set, so firm, so _absolute,_ that he looked about ten years older than usual.

And he already gave off the impression of being far older than he really was.

She was just opening her mouth to ask him what was wrong when he cut her off.

“train me.”

The words fell out like he had been holding them in for hours, or even days, demanding and desperate all at once. She blinked. He paused, then his head tilted down, the confidence gone to something more sheepish.

“… please.”

Toriel said nothing. She picked up the spoon and set it in the sink before wiping her hands on her apron.

“I’m not sure I understand, my child.”

Sans curled his fingers into fists, but did not look up.

“i want you to train me. to fight.”

She had heard him the first time, of course. That didn’t make it any easier to comprehend.

“Why would you want to know how to fight?” she asked, even though she could think of about five different reasons off the top of her head. “Do you feel threatened here? I … understand if you still do not trust me completely, but—”

“no,” he cut her off, meeting her eyes at last. One of these days, she would have to explain that it was rather rude to interrupt, but for now she just watched him fidget and struggle to form his words. “i … i dont think youd hurt us.”

It was possibly one of the nicest things she had ever heard out of his mouth, but as much as she wanted to beam, she just nodded.

“Then why do you want to learn to fight?”

The lights in his eyes shrunk to pinpoints, his sockets almost entirely black. “just because you wont hurt us doesnt mean other people wont.”

She tensed. She took a careful, slow step forward, but restrained herself from dropping to her knees and pulling him into a hug.

“Sans,” she said, gently, reasonably. “I promise you that as long as I am here, I won’t let anything—”

“and what if youre not always there?”

His voice broke, desperation leaking through the calm he tried so hard to maintain. She wondered how different he would be today if there had been anybody he could depend on, anybody but his brother, anybody who could truly protect him. She wondered if that part of him had died long before she had found him.

She sighed.

“I can assure you that I’m not going anywhere for a very, very long time. In fact, I—”

“i want to protect him.”

At this, Toriel paused. Not out of shock, because it wasn’t a surprise. From the moment she had met him, nothing had mattered more to Sans than keeping his brother safe. But because those five words killed every argument she had built up in her head, and now, she was left blank.

Sans huffed and stared at the ground, his fists tight and shaking.

“he wont fight,” he murmured, so pained, so desperate, yet so fond. “he can, he just … wont. he wont hurt anyone. not really. even if they really wanna hurt him.”

She knew better than to ask how he was so sure.

She swallowed. “Sans. I know that … after what you’ve been through, the world must seem like a very dangerous place. And … perhaps it is. But—”

“you dont.”

“I’m sorry?” Toriel asked, blinking.

Sans still refused to meet her eyes. “you dont know what weve been through.”

There was far less malice in his voice than she had expected. It was just a fact.

“No,” she replied, after a moment’s pause. “You’re right. I don’t.”

He risked a glance at her, silent, appraising, before shifting his gaze to the side. Toward the doorway. Toward where she guessed Papyrus was still in their room, probably working on a puzzle.

“my brother loves the monsters around here. he loves that most of them … dont want to fight. they just wanna talk, or play, or … and even if they do wanna fight at first, it’s easy to convince em not to. but …” His eyelights, which had grown soft and loving, hardened again. “he cant be the only one out there who’s like that. and if we meet someone … someone who wont accept his mercy, he … he’ll let them …”

He squeezed his eyes shut, face pinched.

“and i want to protect him,” he muttered, voice high and close to breaking again. “even if he hates me for it. i cant … i cant let anything … i cant let him …”

He let out a long, trembling breath and shook his head. In almost five months of knowing him, she didn’t think he had ever looked so utterly helpless.

Toriel closed her eyes, settled her mind, then opened them again.

“Very well.”

Sans’s head shot up, and he stared at her like she had started speaking backwards. “huh?”

“I will train you, if you wish,” she replied.

He blinked. The lights in his eyes grew, still disbelieving. Toriel hesitated.

“I don’t approve of violence,” she said, because she had to say it one more time. “… but the idea of anything happening to either of you because you were unable to defend yourselves is far more unpleasant.”

Sans had never really stopped looking at her with suspicion. No matter what she did to prove herself, he still held fast to the early idea he had built of the world: that everyone except his brother could easily betray him at any second.

But for that moment, just that one moment, his distrust disappeared, and all she saw was a scared, broken child, who had been granted a single wish after a lifetime of denial.

He looked back down.

“thanks.”

Toriel smiled. “Of course, my child. Now, how about you go call your brother? I just need to add the dry ingredients, and then we can start rolling out these cookies.”

Sans glanced up at her, and for once, his smile didn’t look quite so forced.

Then he scampered out of the kitchen without a word, looking more like an ordinary little boy than he ever had before.


	28. Day 151: Kick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after all those heavy chapters, have one that's just pure goofy fluff! (Trust me, you're going to get tired of these fluff chapters eventually.)
> 
> Seriously, though, _over 900 kudos._ Holy crap, you guys, I never imagined this story coming this far. Thank you so much. :)

Sometimes it was hard to remember that less than six months before, the boys had hesitated to come to her for anything.

Not that they were demanding now, by any means. They still entertained themselves the majority of the time, far more than the average child would—and to be frank, more than she wanted. On a good number of days, they just went through their normal routine. Toriel made breakfast and the boys came out to eat it. Then she left for her daily visit to Chara’s grave, Papyrus occasionally accompanying her, and Sans even more rarely. She came back, did some household tasks, maybe read or knitted, then made lunch, calling the boys in once again to eat with her.

The afternoons were the most variant part of the day. Sometimes, she and Sans went out to train. Sometimes she helped Papyrus make or solve a new puzzle. Sometimes the boys played on their own, or Sans napped and Papyrus played, and she would do more reading or knitting or even some joke-writing until it was time to make dinner.

Today, given that both boys were engrossed in their toys last time she checked, she assumed she would be making dinner alone.

So she was more than a little surprised to turn around to grab something off the counter and find a certain tall, thin skeleton child standing in the doorway, watching her, that same eagerness mixed with hesitation that she had grown so used to over the past few months.

It took her a few seconds to collect herself enough to smile.

“Oh, hello, Papyrus. Did you need something?”

Papyrus glanced behind her, then nodded.

“YES. I WAS WONDERING IF … COULD YOU TEACH ME HOW TO COOK?”

She blinked. Papyrus fidgeted, but she could make out a hopeful gleam in his sockets—far outweighing the uncertainty that had once overpowered so many of his requests.

“I LIKE HELPING YOU, AND I WANT TO LEARN TO DO RECIPES BY MYSELF,” he went on. He gave her a bright smile. “THEN SOMETIMES YOU WON’T HAVE TO COOK AND I CAN COOK INSTEAD.”

Toriel chuckled, and the slight tension in her shoulders faded.

“Well, you’re certainly not obligated to cook our meals, Papyrus. But if you’d like to learn, then I’d love to teach you.”

Right away, his smile widened into his signature blinding grin, and he bounced up and down with unbridled glee. “OH YAY!”

She laughed again and beckoned him over to the counter.

Luckily, she was making something fairly simple tonight: a casserole with chopped vegetables and spices and a few ingredients she had left over, since she planned to go grocery shopping tomorrow and wanted to clear out her fridge. In only two minutes, she had caught Papyrus up on what she had already done and explained the rest of the recipe. She even offered to forgo fire magic for tonight so he could learn to use the oven.

After, of course, making it clear that she didn’t want him to use the oven by himself until she had supervised the first few times.

At first, it seemed that everything was going well. Papyrus adored helping and soaked up the information she gave him like a very starved sponge. He chopped vegetables, mixed spices, and spread oil over the casserole dish with ease.

But Toriel had apparently forgotten that Papyrus never seemed to interpret instructions in the way she intended them.

Which she only noticed when she turned around from looking through her cabinets to find him leaning over the bowl, a knife in one hand and a small white vegetable in the other, as he shaved little pieces into the rest of the mix.

She blinked.

“Papyrus, what are you putting into the bowl?”

“GARLIC!” he replied, flashing her a quick smile before going back to his task. “YOU SAID IT NEEDED GARLIC, RIGHT?”

She nodded, slowly, brow furrowed. “Yes, my child. But only two cloves.”

“WELL, I THOUGHT THE EXTRA GARLIC MIGHT MAKE IT BETTER! THE GARLIC BREAD YOU MAKE IS VERY GOOD!”

“I suppose …” she murmured.

She made a mental note to tone down the amounts of the other spices in the recipe. She didn’t mind the casserole tasting a bit more like garlic than usual, and Sans didn’t seem very picky when it came to his food. It should be fine.

And it probably would have been. If that was the _only_ change Papyrus had made, instead of just the only one she _noticed._

She apparently didn’t see him adding the leftover tomato sauce from the fridge into the mix, at least until she had to adjust the consistency of the recipe to make sure it would still cook. And she definitely didn’t notice when he turned the oven on twice as hot as she had requested, and she only just managed to pull the casserole out before it caught fire.

It was scorched around the edge, runny in the middle, and smelled a bit like he had simply dumped her entire spice cabinet in at once.

But he was beaming, his eyes wide and bright, giggles slipping past his teeth as he stared at his first creation. And Toriel couldn’t bring herself to say a thing about it.

In the end, the casserole was far too spicy, and too runny, and bits of it tasted like ash, but it could have been much worse. Sans ate his entire serving—or, at least, his entire serving disappeared from his plate while she wasn’t looking—and told Papyrus it was the best thing he had ever eaten. Even as she struggled to swallow another bite, Toriel found herself agreeing.

Papyrus’s smile was more than worth it.

That smile would have been worth all the barely-edible dinners in the world.

Besides, this was only his first lesson. She had plenty of time to work out the kinks.


	29. Day 169: Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to say for this chapter. ;) (Except thank you, as always.)

She hadn’t said anything at first—because at this point, she wasn’t going to risk shattering any of the positive feelings the boys had built up—but the idea of training Sans terrified her.

Not because she didn’t want him to know how to fight. She did, as much as she abhorred violence. She really would rather him know how than not, if it came down to it. And she agreed that Papyrus could probably have a knife to his throat and still refuse to kill.

But Sans only had one HP.

If he didn’t dodge, even once—if she made her attacks too strong, if she missed and hit him even though she tried not to—

She couldn’t think about it.

But she had promised, and so, every other day, after lunch, she took Sans out a few rooms away from the house, where there was a decent-sized open space unoccupied by monsters and free for use. Initially, Papyrus came with them, eager to cheer on his brother and step in if it looked like he was going to get hurt, but recently, he had begun to stay behind at the house, making small, simple snacks for when they returned or designing a new puzzle as he had done more and more often lately.

He had trusted her with almost everything from so early on. But Toriel couldn’t help but be moved that he trusted her with his brother.

Even so, that didn’t mean she trusted herself. She did everything she could to hold herself back, to aim away from him rather than right toward him, to make sure that even if something did graze him, it wouldn’t do much damage. But there was only so much she could disadvantage herself before he failed to learn anything, something he pointed out to her on more than one occasion. Real enemies weren’t going to go easy on him. So she shouldn’t either. She still weakened her blasts, tried not to hit him, but bit by bit, she began to assure herself that he was skilled enough to dodge whatever she threw at him.

Perhaps it was inevitable that she would accidentally hurt him.

Or, at least, that was what she assumed had happened when she loosed a fireball and he fell to his knees, panting.

Panic raced through her. No—no, she hadn’t hit him, the fireball had hit the opposite wall, she would have heard the impact, his robe would have been scorched, so why—

It didn’t matter why.

She scrambled forward, hands outstretched, ready to heal at a second’s notice.

“Sans! Sans, are you alright?”

Before she could reach him, he lifted a hand, waving her off with limp, vague movements.

“m’fine,” he murmured. His eyesockets drooped. “just a little tired.”

Toriel stopped just in front of him. She pursed her lips in concern, but she couldn’t quite help a small smile of relief.

“You need to tell me these things,” she said, very gently, as she got down on her knees to see him better. “I’m not as skilled as Papyrus at knowing your limits. I don’t want to hurt you.”

With his head lowered, she couldn’t quite read his expression.

“ill be okay,” he replied, a little stronger than before, but still quiet and weak. “ill just … take a nap and we’ll do more tomorrow?”

She chuckled, a sound so full of fondness it surprised even her. “Of course.”

She didn’t realize she was picking him up until he was already in her arms, and it wasn’t until she started back toward the house that she noticed he hadn’t resisted. He had barely even flinched.

So she settled him against her, cradled like a child. She waited for the protest, waited for him to squirm out of her grasp. But he just lay there, sockets half-open, looking even sleepier than he had a minute before.

Toriel had almost reached the house before she looked down and saw his smile.

Sans never stopped smiling. Not really. It seemed to be a permanent part of his expression, locked into place even when he was furious, even when he was ready to sob his eyes out. Rarely was it genuine. Rarely did it mean anything. The only time she had seen it look like a real smile was when he looked at his brother.

But as she met his gaze now, she found him smiling up at her, sleepily, gently. As if he was actually happy to be there with her.

“thanks,” he murmured, even more quietly than usual.

She tilted her head. “For what, my child?”

“for doin this.” Sans nestled a bit closer into her embrace, and she couldn’t stop herself from holding him tighter, more secure, like she had wanted to since the moment she saw him in that cell. Sans’s face tensed, and he tilted it toward her chest, avoiding her eyes. His smile dimmed. “he always said i was the weak one. the … disposable one. i … i always told my brother not to believe him, he thought my brother was stupid and he’s NOT, he thinks different but that doesnt mean he’s DUMB.”

The venom in his tone was almost palpable. For the first time, she allowed herself to rub the back of his ribcage like she had with Papyrus. And to her shock, she felt him relax, if only a little.

“I know he’s not dumb, Sans.”

He didn’t seem to have heard her. “and he always took my brother for the worst stuff, cause he could SURVIVE it, then he’d bring him back and i tried to heal him, i tried, but i … i …”

It took her a moment to notice the tears growing at the corners of his sockets. His tiny hands clenched around the front of her robes, and his breath hitched as he tried, far harder than any child ever should have tried, to hold back his sobs.

Toriel rubbed his back a little more firmly, held him a little closer.

“Sans,” she said, loud enough to get his attention. His breathing paused. She sighed. “Do you remember when Papyrus wanted to look at your physics book?”

He shifted. “yeah.”

“And do you remember how he decided it was confusing and went and did something else?”

“yeah.” He flinched, then twisted his head up to meet her eyes. “but … it’s not cause he’s dumb, he—”

“Sans, I know,” she cut him off. His browbone furrowed, and she smiled. “Papyrus may not like physics or math, but he excels at puzzles. And you don’t like puzzles much, do you?”

Sans shrugged, looking away again. “theyre okay. more papyrus’s thing.”

She nodded.

“You see? That doesn’t mean either of you is dumb. It means you like different things, that you’re _good_ at different things.”

He didn’t respond at first. He moved around in her grasp, but rather than pulling away, he pressed even closer, settling into her arms like he might settle into bed in the evening. Like he had settled into his brother’s embrace.

One of the old tears slipped over his cheekbone, and his sockets shut tight.

“but i … i couldnt …”

“Sans.” He stopped, though his breathing had already turned to huffs, and for a moment she worried whether he had gotten so lost in the memories she wouldn’t be able to pull him out. She couldn’t hold him any tighter without hurting him. “You never should have been put in a position where your strength and your brother’s were tested like that. _Ever._ What Ga … what he did to you was wrong. So wrong that I don’t even have a word for it. And _anything_ he said to you, ever, is just as wrong.”

Sans didn’t respond. Toriel pursed her lips and gritted her teeth, then forced herself to relax, for his sake, if not for her own.

“I know it isn’t easy to forget it,” she said, more gently, softening her hand rubbing his ribs until she was stroking his spine instead. “But I also know that you are anything but weak.”

At this, he paused, then shifted his head to look up at her, browbone furrowed. “what?”

“I’ve met many monsters with low HP before, Sans,” she replied, pushing all the affection, all the pride, all the _love_ she felt into her gaze. “But I have _never_ met one who pushed themself as hard as you. I’ve never met someone who found ways to work around their limits, to do things even when others tell them they can’t.”

She hesitated, staring off into the distance rather than meeting his eyes.

“I admit, I’ll never like the idea of you fighting. You should spend your days playing with your brother, reading, doing whatever you enjoy, but …” She felt his gaze still locked on her, and when she met it again, she found herself smiling. “You may not have been born with strength, Sans. But you _made_ yourself strong. And that is far more impressive than someone with ten thousand HP will ever be.”

Sans stared, silent, looking so small, so vulnerable in her arms that she never wanted to let him go. She smiled wider, turning the last corner before they reached the house.

“Now, how about Papyrus and I make you a snack while you rest? We’ve been working on a new recipe.”

He said nothing for a moment, before his eyes softened, his smile more of a smirk. “is it edible this time?”

She chuckled. “I think we can manage it.”

“k,” he murmured. With the tension gone from his body, his sleepiness seemed to return tenfold. His wide sockets closed a bit, his bones curling in to better fit into her cradling hold.

Before she could stop herself, she lifted a hand and ran it over Sans’s skull, massaging her fingers in tiny circles, as Papyrus seemed to love. His eyelights grew a bit as his sockets drooped, falling shut under the gentle motion. He gripped her robes, more gently now, like a baby would grip a parent’s finger, and snuggled his face into her chest.

And on some old, long-forgotten instinct that burst to life at the familiar gesture, she began to hum.

She had yet to sing a lullaby to either of the boys, as many times as she had tucked them in or read them stories. She doubted if they even knew what a lullaby was. But as she continued to rub his skull and hum an old tune, the sound rumbling through her chest, she felt Sans’s tiny body go limp in her hold, a faint, content sigh slipping through his teeth.

Papyrus looked up at them from the floor of the sitting room as she walked through the front door. He opened his mouth, but soon caught sight of her tiny, sleeping charge. His sockets gleamed orange, his smile so wide it threatened to burst. Without a word, he scrambled to his feet and followed them down the hall, where he opened the bedroom door and pulled back the sheets so she could tuck his brother into bed.

He jittered with delight the whole time, but never made a sound.

They left Sans to sleep and headed toward the kitchen to get started on the promised snack, and only once they were standing in front of the stove did Papyrus squeal at the top of his nonexistent lungs and leap into her arms in a relieved, exuberant hug.


	30. Day 175: Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Just, well, wow. :) Thank you all so much!! And HOLY CRAP LOOK AT [THIS INCREDIBLE ARTWORK](http://stuffedart.tumblr.com/post/160177105079/kaliawai512-chapter-29-of-butterscotch-and) I AM SPEECHLESS THIS IS AMAZING AND EXACTLY HOW I PICTURED THIS SCENE. :D Yeah I'm really really happy.
> 
> As a side note, I'm thinking about doing a voice recording for a chapter of Butterscotch, once I get a proper microphone. Do you guys have a chapter you'd most like to hear recorded? Let me know in the comments!

Papyrus had only been out of their bedroom for five minutes when Sans heard the scream.

He was half-asleep, already drifting off into a nap on the bed that still felt far too comfortable, but his mind snapped awake in under a second once the noise reached him. Then he was up, scrambling out of bed and out of the room and down the hall and he knew it, he _knew_ it, he shouldn’t have trusted her, he couldn’t trust anyone, he had trusted her and she had betrayed them and now his brother was hurting and it was his fault and—

He reached the entrance to the sitting room, and stopped.

There they were. Sitting on the rug. Or, rather, half-sprawled on the rug.

Toriel sitting over Papyrus, tickling his ribs as he squirmed and squealed, rolling from side to side as he reached up his arms to tickle her in return.

Both of them smiling. Laughing.

Safe.

All Sans could do was stand there, watching them, the whole scene almost surreal in its oddity. After a minute, his brother looked up and caught sight of him. His eyes lit up, and his mouth curled in a wide smile.

“BROTHER! COME PLAY WITH US! IT’S THE GAME WE USED TO PLAY A LONG TIME AGO! SHE KNOWS IT, TOO!”

Toriel turned to him as well, nodding and smiling almost as big, chuckles still slipping past her lips.

Sans hesitated. Not because he didn’t remember, because as much as that time—the time before the plates—seemed a world away now, he would never fully forget it.

He heard his brother’s scream echoing in his head, and now that he listened to it more closely, it sounded nothing like the screams he had made in the lab.

He had heard screams like that before, hadn’t he? Before. In the early days.

Screams of delight, of glee. The screams of protest when Sans tickled his ribs. No pain. No fear. Just joy.

And before Sans could think any more about it, Papyrus jumped up from the rug, scampered across the room, grabbed Sans’s hand, and yanked him down to join them.

Sans started to protest, but then he felt two sets of hands tickling his ribs, and he burst out in laughter.

For once, he didn’t think. He kicked and thrashed and finally managed to grab Papyrus, rolling on top of him to tickle him back. When Toriel grabbed him from behind, he flinched, just for a second, before he flipped around to tickle her, too.

They laughed and tickled and shrieked and bumped into the chair and almost rolled into the fireplace, and eventually they all flopped on the floor on their backs, chuckles bursting from their throats as they stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe.

Sans lay between them. His brother and Toriel. Safe, and happy, and peaceful.

He closed his eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, everything was really going to be alright.


	31. Day 190: Notice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, 1100 kudos. O.O And [MORE PRETTY ARTWORK](http://tc-draws-stuff.tumblr.com/post/160273401936/so-i-got-finally-through-reading) OH MY GOD THIS IS ADORABLE I LOVE IT LOVE IT! :D (Am I going to react this way to every drawing? Yes. Yes I am.)
> 
> And for reference, I can’t pun. Like, at all. 95% of the puns I make in real life are complete accidents. I literally just Googled bad puns and knock-knock jokes and used them to make this chapter. (Which is why Sans doesn’t pun much in this story.) In other news, _there is literally a website called www.badpuns.com._

It was the first time Sans could remember that Papyrus was sitting quite happily on the floor, reading a book, and _he_ was the one who couldn’t bear to sit still a second longer.

Maybe it was because he had been napping so much after his training lately. Or maybe it was because he _was_ training, getting physical exercise that he actually _wanted._ Either way, today, instead of falling asleep near his brother as he would have gladly done on any other day, he found himself so restless that he actually got up and went to wander the house by himself.

Hopefully this wouldn’t last. He really liked napping better.

But for now, he was up and about, walking through parts of the house he had gone through dozens of times already. He considered going out to explore more of the Ruins, but he knew his brother wouldn’t like him going by himself—and as much as it irked him, Sans saw his point. If something happened to him while he was alone, no one would be able to help him. So he stayed inside.

Toriel was busy in the kitchen, so he couldn’t hang out there unless he wanted to help her cook. Papyrus got grumpy when he made too much noise in the sitting room. None of the toys in their room seemed very interesting, and he knew there was nothing to do in the room Toriel kept closed up—she had showed it to him once, when he asked, and there was nothing much to see.

Which was how he found himself stepping into the only other major room in the house.

He had been in Toriel’s room several times, though never alone, and the most he had ever done was try on the clothes in her wardrobe. Papyrus had always insisted that looking around any more while Toriel wasn’t with them was rude.

There weren’t any toys here, but there were drawers, and under her bed, and all sorts of interesting items and books that might be able to tell him more about the woman who, even after living with her so long, he still knew so little about.

Papyrus wasn’t here right now. He could look around, and no one would ever know.

And yet …

Sans’s face pinched.

Snooping around to learn more about her could only help him. He knew that. But even without Papyrus with him, Sans could hear his voice echoing in his head. _SANS, SNOOPING IN TORIEL’S THINGS WOULD BE DISRESPECTFUL OF HER PRIVACY._

Privacy. He hadn’t known anything about privacy before he met her.

Then she’d told him about knocking on doors before you came in. Offering to turn around while he got undressed for a bath. Apologizing for looking under his bed and promising not to do so again, and even though he couldn’t confirm it, he was almost sure she _hadn’t._ Not once, in all this time. Even though he had stopped stashing food there a month ago.

He huffed a long sigh and shook his head.

Well, the room wasn’t going anywhere. He could always find a chance to snoop later, if he wanted to. He turned around and started back toward the hall, ready to sort through the bookshelf to see if he could find anything he hadn’t already read, even if, for once, sitting and reading had lost its appeal.

Then he stopped.

He turned toward Toriel’s desk, where a single book lay.

The book she had once called her diary.

It was wide open.

He hesitated, taking a single step forward, then another. If it was open, she didn’t care if he read it, right? Before he knew it, he was clambering onto the chair and peering down at the exposed pages on the desk, part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like his brother still screaming at him that it could have _fallen_ open, she could have left it open by accident, she could have—

Then his eyes focused on the words on page, and his browbone furrowed.

_Knock knock._

_Who’s there?_

_Apple._

_Apple who?_

_Apple your hair if you don’t let me in!_

… what?

It took a second before the words sunk in, and he had to say them out loud to himself before it clicked. Then a chuckle slipped past his teeth, and another, until he found himself grinning down at the page like an idiot.

Was _this_ a diary? A book of jokes? He settled down into the seat, leaning over the book, and turned the page.

For more than ten minutes, he sat there, reading through one after the other, chuckling and even laughing out loud once or twice. It felt weird to laugh. It felt _good_ to laugh. He had laughed during the tickle fight, but this was a different kind of laughter. Milder, but warmer, each joke sticking to his head like the time Papyrus tried to pick up a piece of paper with glue on his hand.

The whole time, he felt something building up inside him. Something he couldn’t quite recognize, yet which felt vaguely familiar at the same time.

Only when he finally slipped out of the chair—reluctantly, since he still had plenty of the diary to go through, but he didn’t dare stay longer—did it hit him.

He wanted to _share_ this.

He scampered down the hall to the sitting room, stopping near the entrance when his eyes fell on his brother, still laying on the floor, exactly where he had left him.

“hey, papyrus.”

Papyrus’s head snapped up from the book, eager and alert as always. “YES, SANS?”

“knock knock.”

“… WHAT?”

“it’s a joke,” Sans replied, reigning in his excitement a bit. “i just learned about it. i say ‘knock knock’ and you pretend someone’s knocking at the door.”

Papyrus sat up and smiled. “OH. WELL, THEN, COME IN, SANS!”

“no, you gotta pretend you don’t know who’s there.”

Now the baffled frown was back. “BUT THERE’S ONLY YOU AND TORIEL, WHO ELSE WOULD IT BE? THE OTHER MONSTERS DON’T COME TO THE HOUSE.”

“just say ‘who’s there,’” Sans tried.

Papyrus gave him a vaguely irritated look, but it vanished a second later.

“FINE. WHO’S THERE?”

“beets.”

“BEETS? WHY WOULD BEETS BE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR?”

“no, you say ‘beets who.’”

“BUT … OH, ALRIGHT. BEETS WHO?”

Sans felt his smile stretch all the way across his skull.

“beets me.”

Silence. Papyrus stared, his browbone more furrowed by the second, his head tilted to the side. “I DON’T GET IT.”

But before Sans could say anything, the silence was shattered by a burst of laughter so sudden, so loud, so utterly unexpected that both boys jumped, jerking their heads to face the kitchen doorway.

Where Toriel stood, one arm against the wall, laughing so hard Sans could barely recognize her as the same ever-calm monster who had cared for them for more than six months.

“I see you found my diary, Sans,” she managed as her laughter began to fade.

Sans stiffened. All at once, every one of the Papyrus-voice’s admonitions sounded in his head, and he took a step back on reflex.

“um, yeah, i …”

But she was shaking her head, her smile wide.

“I don’t mind. I left it out, you can read it if you like,” she said. Most of the tension slipped out of his shoulders. Something glinted in her eyes as she raised her brow. “Did you learn any other jokes?”

For a moment, Sans remained frozen, no longer nervous, but still unsure. She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to rest against her, cradled in her arms, comfortable and safe enough to fall asleep so close to someone other than his brother.

He took a deep breath.

“knock knock.”

Her smile widened. “Who’s there?”

“ach.”

She had heard it before. Of course she had, it was in _her_ diary. Yet she just kept grinning.

“Ach who?”

He pointed one finger at her with his best attempt at a wink. “haha, made you sneeze.”

And once again, she burst into laughter.

It was such an odd sound coming from her, so unbridled and casual and _real._ The sort of sound he couldn’t doubt was genuine. His chest felt warm, his sockets soft as he smiled wider than he had since the tickle fight, holding himself up taller than he ever had in his life.

Papyrus was still frowning, looking back and forth between them with a tilted head.

“THESE JOKES ARE VERY STRANGE.”

Sans’s smile didn’t falter as he turned to his brother. “papyrus?”

“YES?”

“knock knock.”

Papyrus crossed his arms and gave a brief scowl, but finally huffed. “WHO’S THERE?”

“dismay.”

“WHY WOULD SOMEONE BE NAMED …” He cut himself off and went back to looking irritated. “DISMAY WHO?”

“dismay be a bad joke, but i think it’s funny!”

Toriel was laughing again, even harder this time. Papyrus’s mouth tightened and he looked away, but Sans could see the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

“THAT WAS TERRIBLE,” he grumbled.

Sans beamed. “youre smilin, bro.”

He didn’t know someone could scowl and grin at the same time.

“MAYBE, BUT IT’S STILL NOT FUNNY!”

“hey, a good pun is its own re-word,” Sans replied.

“I DON’T SEE—HEY! THAT WAS ANOTHER JOKE, WASN’T IT!”

Toriel barked yet another laugh, looking at him with the same wide, bright eyes she gave whenever he picked something up particularly fast in training.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” she said. “Did you make that up, Sans?”

He could feel his cheekbones flush faint blue, but he couldn’t stop the ever-growing smile as he shrugged. “yeah, it just … _bookwormed_ its way into my head.”

Toriel burst into laughter once more, as Papyrus let out a long, echoing groan.

“SANS, STOP IT!”

“Oh, that was wonderful!”

“NO IT WASN’T!”

“oh, come on, bro, that one was a real _rib-tickler._ ”

“OH MY GOD, SANS!”

Toriel was all but cracking up. Papyrus’s arms were crossed so tight they almost disappeared into the fabric of his robes, and Sans’s SOUL had never felt so light.

The fear of the old days had never seemed so far away.


	32. Day 199: Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be used to this by now. But I'm not. It keeps amazing me. You guys never cease to be incredible.
> 
> I should also mention that the idea about Sans's reaction to Gaster’s name was inspired by [ASL Tutorial](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6859165/chapters/15656608). If you haven’t read it, please go check it out, because it's awesome!

Toriel loved when Papyrus helped her cook. She loved his constant enthusiasm, how he never seemed to get bored of any part of the process, no matter how simple, no matter how many times he had done the same thing. She loved his little “additions” to the recipes, even if they didn’t always turn out particularly tasty.

But she couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved when, one afternoon, Papyrus was more interested in working on a large-scale puzzle he had started outside than helping her with dinner. Because as much as she loved the unique way he cooked, sometimes it was easier to just go with a recipe she had tried and tested long ago, one that she didn’t need to modify to make sure that Papyrus’s additions hadn’t rendered it inedible.

Still. After twenty minutes of working on her own, she found the kitchen far too quiet without his eager chatter to fill the silence.

So she was glad to have that silence broken by little skeleton feet padding into the kitchen, smaller and softer than Papyrus’s footsteps. She was smiling even before she even looked up.

“Hello, Sans. Did you need something?”

Sans shook his head, and for the first time in days, he avoided her gaze. She frowned. He had gotten better lately. Much better. But he still had difficult days, and it never helped to push him when he found himself in a funk. So she nodded, gave him another smile, and told him to bother her if he needed anything. Then she went back to the liquid-y batter she had been mixing together for a pie, leaving the child to do what he liked.

It took several minutes, but at last, as she had predicted, he spoke.

“you knew him before he made us.”

And Toriel felt her whole body go tense.

She forced a tight smile as she turned away from her mixing bowl to face him. “I’m sorry?”

“you knew him,” Sans repeated, in that matter-of-fact, you-can’t-get-me-to-let-this-go tone she had come to know all too well. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “when you guys talked through the door, it was kinda obvious.”

Toriel hesitated. There was no way she would be able to manage a lie, and she had promised herself a long time ago that she wouldn’t lie to the boys unless absolutely necessary, just as she didn’t want them to lie to her. She looked back to her mixing bowl with a sigh.

“Yes. I knew him.”

She heard Sans take a step toward the counter, closer to her, and felt his sharp gaze locked on her even as she kept staring at the batter.

“what was he like?”

Toriel pursed her lips, then huffed a sigh. “Sans, I don’t think—”

“i wanna know,” Sans cut her off.

She turned to look at him again, and found him staring at the floor, his eyelights almost gone, his browbone so deeply furrowed it almost looked like skin. His fingers had curled into tiny fists, trembling with emotions she wished she could soothe.

“papyrus always said there had to be good in him. somewhere,” he said. He lifted his head and met her eyes. “was there?”

She told herself she wasn’t going to lie. But as hard as it had been to remember the good in Asgore, it was even harder to remember the good in Gaster.

She closed her eyes, let herself drift back, tried to imagine the last time he had smiled. The last time he had been an awkward yet eager scientist instead of one who could make a child scream without regret. The last time he had been someone she would call a friend.

She let out a long, heavy breath.

“Once.”

Sans’s shoulders tensed. He hesitated to respond, and for a few seconds, she thought he might let the topic drop. But this was Sans, and a moment later he asked, “so what happened?”

Toriel shook her head, pushing back the rush of helplessness that threatened to overtake her.

“I can only guess. I was gone for a very long time.” She paused, brow straight as she met his eyes, her voice as firm and absolute as her gaze. “But nothing that could have happened to him, _nothing,_ would excuse what he did to you.”

Sans’s browbone furrowed again. “you say that a lot.”

“I want to make sure you understand.”

He had nothing to say to that, and she still couldn’t tell whether she had succeeded.

“so what was he like?” he asked, looking away once more, though his tone left no room for dismissal.

Toriel looked down at the batter she had probably stirred about five times as much as she needed to. Then she set the spoon in the bowl, turning to Sans in full. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it properly.

“His name was W.D. Gaster,” she said, and the twinge of surprise in his expression confirmed that in all this time, the boys had never known the name of the man who tormented them. “He went by Gaster, although his first initials stood for WingDings.”

Sans snorted. If he had had food in his mouth, he probably would have choked on it.

“WINGDINGS?” he repeated, more shock and amusement in his voice than she had heard out of him before. He looked at her, incredulous, then let out a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a snicker, shaking his head. “god, I wish id known that. i coulda made so many good jokes with that name.”

In any other case, Toriel would have frowned at the idea of mocking someone for their name. But she couldn’t bring herself to fault Sans for it now.

As soon as he had calmed himself down, she looked up to the ceiling in thought.

“He was always rather … awkward when he was young. Arrogant, in some ways, but very … unsure of himself in others. He had trouble making friends. And he had horrible eating habits, no matter how hard I tried, I can count the times I got him to eat a proper meal on one hand.” She chuckled, a tiny smile touching her lips. “He was … very intelligent. And … he told me that he wanted to use that intelligence to help people. To help all of us.”

The smile faded, and a familiar weight she didn’t realize had lifted settled again on her shoulders. She looked down to Sans, watching her with those same unreadable eyes. She wondered if it was possible for him to reconcile the man Gaster had once been with the one he had become. She wondered if he should even try.

She licked her dry lips. “But ever since the war … you remember the war?”

He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “you told us about it. the one with the humans.”

“Yes,” she said. “Before the war … there were a lot of skeletons. But … many were lost in the battles.”

She hadn’t known at first. She had been so focused on taking care of the injured, on making sure that the humans didn’t kill anyone else. Only once they had been in the Underground for weeks did she seek out old friends, only to find that they were gone, their dust left on the Surface, trodden on and forgotten. And Gaster …

She shook her head.

“I don’t think he was ever the same after that. He was far more willing to use violence, to dismiss alternative methods … more peaceful methods. I think he may have killed at some point.”

“he did.”

Toriel blinked. “What?”

“my brother told me,” Sans muttered, staring off to the side, nonchalant, like stating a long-accepted fact. “he told him, one time. that he killed someone.”

She expected it, of course. There were only so many ways one gained LV, but for so long she had hoped …

“I see,” she said, because that was all there was to say.

Sans met her eyes, as if searching for something. She couldn’t tell whether he found it before he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

“he still believes it, y’know. my brother. that he’s not all bad.”

Toriel out a soft breath, somewhere between resigned and fond. “Yes, I know.”

Sans’s face pinched, his little hands curling yet again into fists.

“i dont think i can … ive tried, but … it’s so _hard_ to …” He hissed through his teeth and shook his head. “he thinks there’s good in everybody, but sometimes it’s like he forgot everything that happened even though i _know_ he didnt and …”

He brought his hands to his skull, clutching it, squeezing his sockets shut as his breathing picked up pace. Toriel hesitated, but a second later she stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. His sockets snapped open. His hands fell to his sides. He looked at her.

He did not pull away.

“Sans,” she said, getting down on her knees. She laid her free hand on his other shoulder. “You don’t have to forgive him. You don’t ever have to forgive him. He did unspeakable things to you, and you don’t want to let them go. That is your right, and there is nothing wrong with that.”

Sans tilted his head in a gesture so reminiscent of Chara it made her flinch. She squeezed his shoulder more firmly.

“The only thing I want for you … not now, I know, but someday … is a life free of anger. Because anger … it serves its purpose for a time, but if it’s left to fester, with no way to express it to the one its meant for, it only hurts you. It can make you miserable. You don’t have to forgive him. I know I don’t. And you can talk to me anytime you want to get those feelings out. I’ll listen.”

She let her thumbs rub tiny circles over his bones through the fabric of his robe. She looked at him, looked at this strong, brave, incredible child, who saw and knew far more than most grown monsters ever would.

“But this is _your_ life,” she said. “You control it. You make your own choices. And you can choose to make your new life without his influence. Without doing anything just because of your anger toward him.”

His browbone creased as he looked her over. Maybe one day, she would have some idea of what he was thinking.

“youre still angry.”

Toriel stiffened. She couldn’t tell whether Sans looked more baffled or sad.

“when you told us why you came here,” he went on. “youre still angry at the guy who did … that bad stuff.”

It wasn’t a question. From the beginning, Sans had always been the most observant child she had ever met.

Except, perhaps, one.

She smiled, and for once, she let all her sadness, all her pain, and every one of her many, many years seep through.

“Yes. I am.” She gave his shoulders one more firm squeeze. “And I don’t want that for you.”

He searched her gaze, looking so young and so old all at once that she didn’t know what to make of it. She could count on one hand the number of times he had looked so vulnerable, and he hadn’t pushed her away.

“will you tell me when you figure out how to stop?”

Toriel swallowed back the tears deep in her throat, and nodded. “I promise.”

Then, without a second’s pause, she pulled him into a tight hug. He let out a trembling breath, but pressed himself into her embrace, tucking his head under her chin and squeezing her as tight as his little arms could.

Five minutes later, the front door opened and closed, and Papyrus scampered into the kitchen to find the two of them chattering away, Toriel chopping vegetables while Sans sat on the counter with a bowl in his hands, stirring the batter she had forgotten.


	33. Day 202: Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! ;)
> 
> Yep, early chapter. No huge reason for it, just felt like posting this early. Plus I'm going to be really busy tomorrow and wanted to make sure to get this up. Plus it's my birthday and I wanted to write a happy fluffy extra to post but I didn't have time so here's a relatively fluffy chapter instead. XD
> 
> Hope you enjoy! (And, as always, thank you so much.)
> 
> Oh, and before you start reading, here's something else you should be reading if you like torturing skeletons (you're reading a _Handplates fanfic_ , after all): [Not with a Bang but with](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10877892/chapters/24168240) by the lovely [RandomCat1832](https://randomcat1832.tumblr.com/). Really, go read it. It's excellent. :)

Tucking them in had once felt so odd. Nostalgic, but also unfamiliar. They would stare up at her as if no one had ever tucked them in before, Papyrus with curiosity, Sans with suspicion, and she would do her best to smile gently rather than sadly and say anything to put them at ease.

Now, when they got tired, they changed into their pajamas and climbed into bed, waiting for a story or a lullaby or whatever other bedtime routine Papyrus requested for the evening. She would kiss Papyrus’s head, and if he seemed receptive to it, she would kiss Sans, too.

Tonight was a good night. Tonight she kissed both their heads, and all Sans did was watch her in silence.

It wasn’t hard at all to bring a smile to her lips.

“Goodnight, my children. Sweet dreams,” she whispered, brushing a hand over their skulls. She hesitated as the words came unbidden to her lips, but a second later, she couldn’t help but let them out. “I love you.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. So she didn’t know what to feel when Papyrus tilted his head and looked at her with the wide-eyed curiosity she had grown so accustomed to.

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” he asked. “THAT YOU ‘LOVE’ US?”

Sans just looked at her, browbone furrowed. “i heard the word before, but …”

Would she ever stop wanting to cry when she heard things like this?

Would she ever stop wishing that these children wouldn’t _remember_ learning what the word “love” meant, because it should have been constant, because a child should have heard it every day from the moment they were born?

Perhaps not.

By sheer force of will, she kept smiling.

“Love is … love is very hard to explain. But in this case … it means that I care for you very much. It means that I will always be here for you, to protect you, to make sure you are safe and happy. It means I want you to be happy, and I will do everything I can to make that happen.”

Sans stared, silent, while Papyrus’s face lit up in that beautiful, eager smile.

“OH!” He slipped one of his hands out of the blankets and reached it out to touch hers. She barely managed to avoid staring at the plate. He smiled wider. “THEN … THEN I LOVE YOU, TOO, TORIEL.”

Toriel pursed her lips and placed her other hand on top of his, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze. Papyrus glanced to his left.

“AND SO DOES SANS,” he added. “HE JUST DOESN’T WANT TO SAY IT.”

Sans shot his brother an unreadable glance, then stared down at the blankets so intensely that one might have thought he had found a miniature physics textbook tucked into the folds. Toriel smiled, still sadly. She gave them both one more kiss and slipped out of the room.

The next day, when she poked her head out of the kitchen at lunchtime, she found the two of them sitting on the sitting room rug, hugging, as they so often did.

She heard Papyrus tell Sans “I LOVE YOU” in a voice quieter than she had thought he could use.

Sans just closed his eyes and snuggled further into his brother’s embrace.

“love you, too, bro.”

Toriel didn’t stop smiling all afternoon.


	34. Day 237: Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this wasn't actually based off this story, but holy crap, robynred, [we think alike](http://robynred.tumblr.com/post/160496579132/sans-sweetie-your-feelings-are-valid-but-were), don't we? XD This is gorgeous, I love her comics.
> 
> Also, in case you like audio recordings, I [did a small one](https://kaliawai512.tumblr.com/post/160645644841/my-first-attempt-at-a-reading-of-my-fanfic) for Chapter 30 as a test, since the longer chapters would be a bigger endeavor and I wanted to see if that was something you guys would like me to do more of. 
> 
> As for this chapter, I actually wrote it back in January, so it wasn't _quite_ so out-of-season back then.
> 
> As always, thank you, everyone. :)

She spent more than a week debating whether to tell the boys about Gyftmas ahead of time, or to make it a surprise.

In the end, she told them about it two days early, as she was putting up a tree in their sitting room.

She didn’t explain too much about it. She knew Papyrus, at least, would try to make gifts for both herself and Sans, and considering that the Ruins were rather short on resources, and he had so many other things he liked to do, she didn’t want to put any pressure on him.

She _did_ make sure to explain the concept of gift-wrapping, though. As much as it hurt to be reminded of yet another thing these boys had been deprived of until now.

The night before, she told them one of her favorite Gyftmas stories, the one she had memorized even though she no longer had a physical copy. Sans fell asleep halfway through, but Papyrus stayed awake until the last word. She felt his smile following her as she slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Then, as soon as she heard the faint sound of snoring, she got to work at last.

It took her an hour to get all the gifts moved out of the spare room where she had been hiding them and arranged properly in front of the tree, as well as add a few more decorations to make the room look more festive. The boys had never had a Gyftmas before, and she was going to make sure they never forgot their first.

She went to sleep with a smile on her face, and when she woke the next morning, it had only gotten wider.

She made breakfast, with cinnamon buns and butterscotch pie and toast and hot chocolate with peppermint and every other treat Asriel and Chara had adored for the holiday. Then, and only then, she knocked on the door the boys’ bedroom, and led one sleepy skeleton and one bursting with excited energy out into the sitting room.

It had never felt so good to see their jaws drop.

For a good minute, they just stood there, staring at the presents like the Barrier had just shattered right in front of their eyes.

Slowly, very slowly, Papyrus turned to face her, his eyesockets so wide they barely looked like his anymore.

“DID YOU … YOU GOT ALL OF THIS FOR US?”

Toriel chuckled, her chest bubbling with warm. “Oh, no, my child. There are a few from me, but most of these gifts are from Santa.”

“SANTA?” Papyrus repeated, looking to Sans, who shrugged. “WHO IS SANTA? ARE THEY ONE OF THE FROGGITS? I’VE NEVER MET THEM.”

This time, she laughed. “No, Papyrus. Santa is … a jolly old man who likes to deliver presents to all the children of the Underground.”

Sans raised one browbone, while Papyrus’s face lit up in surprise and delight.

“OH! THAT IS VERY NICE OF HIM!”

And that was all that was said on the matter.

She ushered both of them over to the tree, and after a few moments looking over the gifts with disbelief, sharing glances that said more than she would ever be able to understand, the boys tore into their gifts with glee.

Well, in a manner of speaking. Sans ripped the paper off of his and tossed it to the side without care for where it ended up, while Papyrus unwrapped each of his with so much care that she probably could have used the paper over again without anyone knowing the difference. But each time one of them opened a gift, their eyesockets grew and occasionally flashed orange or blue. Papyrus squeezed his hand-knitted red scarf to his chest with a squeal, and Sans ran his fingers over the front of the “Quantum Mechanics” textbook she had found with a reverence she had never seen.

Papyrus jumped up to hug her four times, and on one occasion, she caught Sans watching her with more affection than she had thought he could feel toward anyone but his brother.

Though overall, Sans spent more time watching Papyrus delight over his gifts than opening his own.

Their enthusiasm only began to calm after each had opened their fifth gift—because as much as Sans liked to just sit and watch, Papyrus refused to open each gift until Sans also had one of his own. They had finished all the “Santa” gifts and began to move on to the ones she had just stuck her own name on, to slowly introduce them to the tradition of gift-giving between monsters. Next year, they would probably end up giving just as many gifts to each other.

Her smile hadn’t slipped the entire morning.

It had been a long, long time since any child had stayed with her long enough to celebrate Gyftmas. And she was determined that this only be the first year of many, many more.

“TORIEL?”

Toriel snapped out of her reverie and found Papyrus watching her with a slightly puzzled frown. “Yes, my child?”

“YOU SAID SANTA GIVES GIFTS TO ALL THE CHILDREN OF THE UNDERGROUND?” he asked.

She felt a slight shiver of apprehension, but nodded nonetheless.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Papyrus looked at the rug in front of him and fidgeted, like he hadn’t since their early days in the Ruins.

“THEN … WHY DIDN’T HE COME TO THE LAB?”

And there it was.

She wanted to smack herself. She had spent so long with these boys, so long letting herself believe, for however brief intervals, that they were just ordinary children, that they hadn’t been through unbelievable atrocities. That they hadn’t been denied the simplest of things. That they hadn’t been made to believe that they were things instead of people.

She searched her head for something, _anything,_ she could say to reassure him, something to fix this gaping mistake she had left.

But Papyrus beat her to it.

“OH!” His head shot up, and he broke into a wide grin, his sockets gleaming in everlasting optimism once more. “HE MUST NOT HAVE KNOWN WE WERE DOWN THERE. NO ONE ELSE DID, SO SANTA MUST NOT HAVE KNOWN EITHER! BUT NOW WE’RE HERE WITH YOU, SO HE KNOWS WHERE WE ARE. I BET THAT’S WHY THERE ARE SO MANY PRESENTS THIS TIME! DON’T YOU THINK, SANS?”

He turned to his brother, and Toriel followed his gaze to find Sans watching them. If there had been any pain in his eyes, he hid it quickly, and just gave Papyrus a lazy, almost convincing grin.

“yeah, bro. i bet youre right.”

Papyrus beamed. “OF COURSE I AM! OH, LOOK, BROTHER, THIS ONE IS FOR YOU, FROM TORIEL!”

He picked up a present wrapped in bright green paper, and Gyftmas morning continued as if it had never stopped.

The boys spent the entire day enjoying their new gifts, Papyrus asking her at least twenty questions about “Santa,” who he was, how he delivered the presents, how he knew what to get, where the presents came from, and how he could knit just as well as Toriel.

The strong hint of skepticism remained in Sans’s eyes, but he never said a word about it, and no matter how many times she looked at him, reading his books, playing with his toys, or just watching his brother, not once did his smile look any less content.


	35. Day 246: Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh ... to those of you guys who were asking whether angst was around the corner, and I said _almost_ all the major angst was done? Well ... this is what I meant. 
> 
> Trigger warning: panic attack and references to severe child abuse.
> 
> And yes, I did actually write this chapter before I wrote _Bandages_.

It was only a matter of time.

The fact that it had taken this long was probably some kind of miracle. They had been so hesitant at first, so fearful of the simplest of things, and it had taken forever for Sans to even begin to trust her. But really, she had been lucky. Two children coming from a background like they had could have developed far worse issues.

And they had. She just didn’t get the chance to see them, _all_ of them, until that one afternoon.

The boys had been exploring the Ruins by themselves for months now, but Toriel still preferred to go with them, especially if they were exploring an area they hadn’t seen before. Over the years, she had gone through and made everything as safe and easy as she could, just in case any of her human children wandered out of the house. But even she couldn’t find everything. Even she couldn’t think of every single thing a child would do.

And she couldn’t stay right by their side at every moment, as much as she might have wished to.

This time, this one time, she was only across the room.

It was a large room, and she was repairing one of the signs on the wall while the boys wandered on. It was one of the few rooms with a bridge over a moat. Not a very deep moat, but she had never taught the boys to swim, so she asked them to be especially careful on the bridge.

Papyrus, she was sure, _had_ been careful. He always was. But he was also enthusiastic. And that enthusiasm led him to pick up his pace as he ran giggling across the bridge, calling out to Sans, who had yet to cross, that there was something really cool on the other side that he wanted to show him.

Toriel had just begun to turn from her work, chuckling, ready to ask Papyrus what he had found, when she saw him.

Just a little too close to the bridge’s edge.

Taking a single misstep.

Wobbling.

And falling over toward the moat below.

Toriel barely had time to move. Maybe the moat wasn’t deep, maybe Papyrus didn’t need to breathe, but he would be stuck on the bottom until she could get him, he would be scared, maybe he would get hurt when she dived down, if there was any chance she could catch him she had to—

Then he stopped.

Mid-fall, in the air, only the tip of his foot still touching the bridge.

It took Toriel several seconds to notice his SOUL glowing deep blue.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sans, his hand outstretched and glowing the same shade.

One of his eyelights had vanished, the other replaced by a blue glow, interlaced with flickering purple. He panted, frozen, just like Papyrus. Then, slowly, as if he were pulling teeth with each motion, he curled his fingers, and Papyrus tipped back onto the bridge, further and further until he was once again standing steady.

Sans’s hand fell. The blue glow of Papyrus’s SOUL disappeared.

And Sans collapsed.

He dropped to his knees like his legs had suddenly stopped working, his arms limp at his sides and his eyelights completely gone. And only a second later, before Toriel could even process what was happening, Papyrus stumbled toward him, his own breath coming in pants and tears already streaming down his cheekbones like he had been crying for an hour.

She could hear his bones rattling.

He fell beside his brother, pulling him into an embrace, tight, far tighter than usual, but Sans didn’t even seem to notice. Toriel snapped herself out of her reverie, out of that moment of pure panic, and forced herself forward, rushing to the boys’ side, her arms out to pull them both into a tight hug.

But when she dropped down beside them, reached out for them …

Papyrus pulled back.

Papyrus had _never_ pulled back.

She heard his breath more clearly now, fast and rough, as if he were trying to hold back his tears but not doing any good. He clutched Sans as close to him as he could manage, his brother little more than dead weight, so still Toriel almost feared he had truly fallen down. But he wasn’t injured, his HP was normal, and Papyrus was fine, too, _physically,_ but they—

She had never seen them use blue magic before.

In all her training with Sans, it had never come up.

She had almost completely forgotten it was something skeletons could do.

Papyrus had almost gotten hurt before, he _had_ gotten hurt, and Sans had gotten hurt, too, so why—

“HE … HE …”

Toriel barely made out the words through the sound of Papyrus’s huffing breaths. She wanted to hold him, cradle him, comfort him like she would have any other time, but he still jerked back at the slightest movement.

As if he was afraid of her.

As if he was that child sitting in the cell once again.

Only far, far worse.

Papyrus panted, gripping his brother, shaking his head back and forth as his eyes flashed orange and purple.

“HE SAW US USING BLUE MAGIC AND HE WAS MAD AND HE SAID IF WE EVER THOUGHT ABOUT USING IT …” His breathing quickened further, his legs trembling beneath him, barely holding him up. “THEN HE … HE PICKED ME UP AND H-HE THREW ME ACROSS THE ROOM AND IT HURT AND MY BROTHER WAS SCREAMING BUT HE PUT HIM IN A BONE CAGE AND HE WOULDN’T STOP AND I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE … TORIEL, I WAS GOING TO DIE AND I THOUGHT HE’D STOP BUT HE DIDN’T STOP HE DIDN’T STOP HE DIDN’T … HE DIDN’T …”

He tried to force out more words, but they choked off before they reached his mouth. He tried again, and again, but each time, nothing. His fingers dug into Sans’s back so hard she feared they would leave marks.

Then he closed his eyes and wailed.

It was the most painful noise that had even reached Toriel’s ears.

He cried. He held his brother and he cried, sobbed, _screamed,_ as if he could feel every bone in his body being shattered at once.

Could he?

How many times had this child’s body been brutalized? How many times had it healed only to be broken once again? How many times had his brother _watched_ it happen, or seen the aftermath? How many ways had he suffered that she would never know, no matter how much time passed?

She stayed in front of him for more than five minutes, waiting, aching to comfort him but not daring to near him. Sans still stared ahead with dark sockets, his body limp in Papyrus’s arms as he screamed and cried and let out everything that sweet smile had hidden since the day he arrived.

At last, the screams quieted to regular sobs. The shaking of his bones soothed to a gentle rattling. But Papyrus’s grip on his brother never wavered.

It took another minute for his eyes to open.

He looked up, his sockets still streaming tears, glowing pure orange instead of purple. His breath hitched, and he held Sans tighter still. Toriel pursed her lips, took a deep breath, and held out her arms in a silent offering.

For a second, just a second, Papyrus remained frozen.

Then he lurched forward and fell into her arms.

And his sobs began anew.

She held them, held them both so tight she couldn’t even feel them shaking, so tight that it was a miracle she didn’t crack their bones, but neither of them tried to pull away. Papyrus’s tears dampened her robe, the glow of his eyes as bright as a flame, even muffled against her. His wails echoed off the walls of the chamber, burning themselves into every crevice of her mind.

She didn’t know how long it took before she felt Sans’s tiny arms twitch, then shift, then wrap around his brother in return.

She didn’t know how long it took for his tears to soak into her robes as well.

She never let them go.

She never wanted to let them go again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she breathed, and only then did she feel the tears dripping over her cheeks, off her jaw and onto their little heads. Her body shuddered. “It’s going to get better. I don’t know how long it will take, but I will stay with you, I will help you, and it _will_ get better.”

They sobbed, but they clung to each other, clung to _her,_ and it was all she could do to keep herself from sobbing right along with them. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I love you. I love both of you so much, I love you more than anything in this world, and I’m never, never going to let anyone hurt you again. I promise. I promise.”

It didn’t stop their tears.

It didn’t stop the pained glowing of their eyes.

But she swore they pressed a little closer, and as long as they were coming closer, instead of pulling away, then that meant she had a chance.

And a chance was all she needed.

An hour later, both their bodies had gone limp and silent, and she picked them up, cradled in her arms, and carried them back to the house to tuck them into bed.

In all likelihood, they would be asleep for a long while. Maybe she would have time to make a butterscotch pie for when they woke up.


	36. Day 323: Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this was the first chapter I completed for this entire story.
> 
> (A neverending thanks for your kind words and support! :) )

Papyrus had gone to sleep two hours ago, but as hard as he tried, Sans couldn’t follow him.

He had lain there, focused on the thrum of his brother’s SOUL against him, thought about nothing, done math problems in his head. Nothing. He hadn’t even taken a nap all day.

So he slipped out and went to sit on the rug in front of the crackling fire while Toriel knitted a hat.

It was red with a yellow stripe. It was probably for Papyrus.

She hadn’t quite managed to hide the blue and white yarn tucked in the basket beside her chair.

The silence felt comfortable. Silence had always felt comfortable, to some extent. Silence meant there were no machines running, no drills preparing to dig into his bones. None of his brother’s helpless screams. But that silence had been cold, empty. A relief. This silence was full, like the stuffed animals Papyrus adored. It was warm and cozy, broken only by the logs shifting in the fireplace, the clicking of the knitting needles, and Toriel’s occasional hum.

Sans stared into the flames and ran his fingers over the cool metal of the plate on his hand.

“he never gave us clothes.”

The knitting needles paused. He could feel Toriel’s eyes on him, though he didn’t look up.

“Sans?”

She sounded concerned. But she always sounded concerned, didn’t she? It was still so weird. Even after how many times he had heard it. Only his brother was supposed to sound so worried for his sake.

He shrugged.

“i mean, we had those gowns, but … that was all he ever gave us. and once time, my bro asked him why he wore different stuff. and he said he wore what normal people wore. but … we weren’t people. we were things. EXPERIMENTS,” he bit out, the word tasting sour in his mouth. He swallowed and set his browbone into a straight line. His hands had begun to shake. “i didnt care. i mean, he always said stuff like that. but just for a SECOND _,_ it was like papyrus just DIED inside. he got better, he ALWAYS got better, but even when he drilled into us, broke our bones, even when he almost KILLED us, papyrus still believed in him, still believed there was GOOD in him. but that ONE TIME _,_ he … and i wanted to … but i COULDNT _,_ and nothing i said MATTERED _,_ and i … i …”

He didn’t notice the tears until they splashed onto his lap.

He didn’t notice that Toriel had gotten up from the chair until she knelt on the rug, wrapped her around him, and pulled him to rest against her.

And Sans pressed his face into the fabric of her robe and sobbed.

She rubbed his spine and the back of his ribs, kissed his skull, whispered kind words he couldn’t understand. And he cried. He cried and sobbed and wailed like he hadn’t since that day with the blue magic, the day they never talked about, like he had wanted to every time He took one of them from the cell, every time He didn’t react to Sans’s taunts, every time He proved his brother wrong, every time He proved that there wasn’t a shred of good left inside Him.

He cried, holding her robe in his fists, hitting them against her on reflex. But she never pushed him away. She held him so gently, yet so tightly, and it hurt like hell to feel so much, to feel _everything_ all at once, when he was vulnerable, not even his brother here beside him. But he wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Eventually, his sobs quieted, and his breathing slowed. He barely registered her picking him up in careful arms, or setting him back down on soft sheets, next to the familiar form of his brother.

But he opened his eyes one more time to see the soft look she gave him as she murmured, “I love you.”

Only as she reached the door could he bring himself to breathe out the response, as natural and familiar and _right_ as if he had said it a thousand times.

“i love you, too.”

She paused. Just for a moment.

Then, with a gentle, content sigh, she closed the door, and Sans drifted into sleep.


	37. Day 365: Celebrate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ran out of ways to thank you guys about ten or fifteen chapters ago. So you get the message, I hope. ;)
> 
> Oh, and if you enjoy Tumblr, I decided that, as this story is getting somewhat close to its end, I would start an [ask blog](https://ask-butterscotchfamily.tumblr.com/) for Toriel and the skelebros. Feel free to ask them any questions you like! And if you've suggested bonus chapters for this story, feel free to ask about similar topics there - for some reason I find it easier to whip up answers to questions than to write full bonus chapters. I will still do my best to complete those bonus chapters (if you've suggested or requested something, it _is_ on my list, though I've been a bit ... stuck for a while), but you'll likely have better luck there. Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> This is probably going to be one of, if not the longest chapter in this story. Well, at least it’s a fitting one.
> 
> Sans’s robe with hood and pockets, as well as Papyrus’s big red boots, belong to Zarla. And, you know, this whole AU.

If it had been up to her, she would have done this months ago.

But the little part of her that insisted on sticking to tradition had stopped her, and so she made up for it by planning the most elaborate ordeal she had set up since Asriel turned five.

Granted, _that_ party had had guests. But there was nothing she could do about that. She could invite some Froggits, some Whimsuns—Papyrus had become good friends with one of the Vegetoids lately—but it would mostly just be her and the boys.

Well. She would just have to make the party even _better_ to compensate.

The only problem was making the party happen without the boys suspecting.

Sans knew something was up, without a doubt. She knew from the beginning that there was no hiding _anything_ from Sans, not completely. Papyrus would accept any excuse she gave him as to why she hadn’t been getting as much sleep lately, why she was encouraging them to play outside more, why she kept her bedroom door closed and seemed to be working on something inside.

Of course, Sans didn’t _ask_ about it. He watched her, but soon it became clear that he watched with curiosity rather than suspicion. Perhaps that was the best she was going to get.

So she put her focus into preparing the party instead.

Presents were a bit difficult to come by with so few resources, and she had no plans to leave the Ruins for a very long time, with Gaster presumably still around. So she ended up making the majority of them. But she refused to compromise on the wrapping, and spent several afternoons scouring the Ruins for anything that could pass as wrapping paper, then making sure the rest was decorated to look like _real_ wrapping paper, and not just brown packaging to hide the contents.

Actually setting _up_ the party, of course, couldn’t be done in advance. She had managed to put the cake batter and frosting together and stick them in the fridge when the boys were distracted, but on the morning of the big day, all she could do was get up more than an hour earlier than usual, pour the batter into the pan, and bake it. While it cooled, she snuck back and forth between her room and the sitting room, moving the packages she had hidden underneath her bed.

Icing the cake took longer then expected, but she still had more than enough time to make breakfast—composed of all their other favorite foods—before it was time to wake the boys.

She opened their door as quietly as she could, though the hinges still creaked a bit. Her face melted into a soft smile as she saw the two children snuggled under the covers, Papyrus’s head on the pillow, Sans’s tucked under his brother’s chin, almost completely hidden by the blanket. She could just make out the faint rise and fall of their ribcages as they breathed.

She stood there for more than a minute before she finally stepped inside.

“Sans. Papyrus,” she called, barely louder than a whisper. “Time to wake up, you two.”

Papyrus’s browbone furrowed. He hummed and clutched his brother tighter as his sockets opened. It took him less than a second to notice her standing at the foot of the bed. Instantly, he was wide awake, beaming and sitting up in bed even as Sans lay limp against his chest.

“OH! GOOD MORNING, TORIEL!”

Sans grumbled, trying to nestle back into his brother’s embrace. “nnn … too early …”

Papyrus frowned down at him. “SANS, WAKE UP!”

“no …”

Papyrus huffed, somehow managing to pout without any lips. Toriel just chuckled, trying and failing to count the number of mornings they had woken up exactly the same way.

“I’ve got a surprise for you if you come out here, Sans. I promise you can take a nap later if you like.”

If Papyrus had been eager before, now he was close to exploding.

“OH, A SURPRISE!” He gave Sans a firm shake, even as his skull lulled back and forth, half-asleep and unwilling to resist. “SANS, SANS, COME ON, HURRY!”

Sans groaned, but finally sat up on his own as Papyrus threw himself out of bed and scrambled for the wardrobe to grab his clothes.

Toriel reached out and touched his shoulder to stop him. “Come on out, you can get dressed afterward.”

It was tradition, after all. Asriel and Chara had always had their birthday breakfasts still in their pajamas. Asgore usually followed suit and trekked out in his flower-print nightshirt. Most of the time, she was the only one actually dressed for the meal.

Papyrus looked at her as if she had said something strange, but shrugged it off and focused on dragging a still-reluctant Sans out of bed.

Luckily, this was something Papyrus had a lot of practice in—and on top of the fact that Sans seemed to realize she was about to reveal what she had been hiding from them, it didn’t take more than a minute to get them out into the hall. They shared several glances as they followed her into the sitting room, like a silent conversation, tossing ideas back and forth as to what their surprise might be.

But apparently, neither of them were expecting the pile of presents sitting on the floor.

They stared at the presents. They looked at each other, then at the presents, and each other again. Finally, they turned to her.

“IS IT GYFTMAS AGAIN?” Papyrus asked, his browbone lifted in vague distress. “I THOUGHT A YEAR WAS LONGER THAN THAT. I WAS GOING TO MAKE A REALLY GOOD PRESENT FOR YOU.”

Toriel blinked, then relaxed into a chuckle. She shook her head.

“No, my child. Today is your birthday.”

Once again, the boys exchanged brief, baffled glances.

Papyrus tilted his head. “WHAT’S A BIRTHDAY?”

She had expected the question, of course. Why would two boys who hadn’t known what a bath was, who hadn’t known about presents or knocking before you entered a room or bedtime stories or how hugs should always, always be free, know about something as simple as birthdays?

Even after all this time, it still hurt.

“Well … a birthday is the day you were born,” she said.

Papyrus frowned, puzzled. Sans grimaced and looked away.

“but … we werent …”

A smile touched her lips, and she reached out to brush each of their shoulders. They both met her eyes.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but …” She trailed off. Should she really be this nervous? Was she afraid they would say no? She refused to let her smile fade. “Today is one year from the day I found you both. And so I thought …”

That was all it took. Sans’s browbone furrowed as her words clicked in his head, and a few seconds later, Papyrus’s eyesockets widened.

“IS THAT OUR BIRTHDAY?”

The tension in her body began to slip away, and her smile felt far more at ease. “If you’d like it to be.”

Papyrus beamed.

“OH YES!” he cheered, clapping his little hands together and bouncing up and down on his bare feet. Even Sans’s eyelights seemed to grow, bright and wide, like a skeleton child’s should be. Papyrus stopped his bouncing and tilted his head. “SO WHAT DO YOU DO ON A BIRTHDAY?”

“Well, you were right in that it’s a bit like Gyftmas,” Toriel replied. “Except on your birthday, it’s all about you.”

Papyrus looked behind him at the pile of presents on the floor. “DOES SANTA BRING THESE GIFTS, TOO?”

She chuckled. “Not this time.”

A second passed. Two. Three.

Papyrus’s jaw fell open.

“SO … IT WAS YOU! YOU GOT ALL OF THESE FOR US?”

Toriel couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud.

“Yes, of course. It’s your birthday, after all. I wanted to make it very special,” she said, reaching down and running a hand over each of their skulls. Papyrus kept on beaming, but Sans, despite his clear surprise and joy, still looked ready to fall asleep at the slightest prompting. “But before we open your presents, there’s something else you do on your birthday.”

She started toward the kitchen, and a moment later, both boys followed along at her sides.

“this birthday stuff’s pretty complicated,” Sans muttered, though without any real irritation.

Papyrus gave an exasperated huff. Toriel just laughed again.

She stopped in the entrance to the kitchen and motioned toward the table, which had been laid out with the usual breakfast spread, as well as the brand new centerpiece, covered with rich chocolate icing and topped with candles sparking with fire magic.

“Here we are,” she said, unable to keep a touch of pride out of her voice. “This is your birthday cake.”

She looked down at the boys, still standing at her sides. But both of them had eyes only for the cake. Large eyes. Larger and brighter than she had known skeleton eyesockets could be without actually glowing.

She was fairly certain Sans was drooling.

“WOWIE!” Papyrus burst out, after he finally found his voice again.

“is that for us?” Sans asked, turning to her again, full of pure, childlike wonder.

Toriel couldn’t remember the last time her chest felt so warm.

“All for you, my children. I hope you won’t eat it all at once, of course, but yes. It’s all yours.”

Papyrus looked at the cake, then back to her. “BUT YOU’LL HAVE SOME, TOO, WON’T YOU?”

“If you’d like,” she said. “It’s your birthday cake.”

He nodded, as if her sharing it should have been obvious. Then he pointed one bony finger toward the cake.

“WHAT’S THAT ON TOP?”

Toriel followed his gaze. “Those are your birthday candles. You blow them out and make a wish.”

“OH! YAY!” Papyrus paused, and instead of the confusion she had expected, he almost looked distressed. “BUT …”

She frowned. “What is it, my child?”

Papyrus looked to Sans, then back to her again. “WHAT DO WE WISH FOR?”

“Anything you’d like,” Toriel replied.

Papyrus kept frowning. His browbone furrowed in deep thought, and he tilted his head in the gesture that hadn’t changed a bit, no matter how much time had gone by.

“BUT … I ALREADY HAVE EVERYTHING I WANT.”

He said it so simply, so obviously, that it took her mind several seconds to register the words. By the time it did, he had turned to Sans.

“WHAT ABOUT YOU, BROTHER?”

Sans stared back at him, his eyelights wide and bright, his face as soft as it had ever been. There were very few monsters with such fixed expressions who could pour so much emotion into a single look, but Sans managed it without a hitch.

Then he turned to her, and for the first time, Toriel felt all that affection directed toward her, flooding her with every “thank you” he had never said. And for a moment, he was that boy in the cell once again, but rather than flinching away and watching her like she might attack, he watched her as if she were an Angel. That boy who had scarcely dared to hope for freedom, but who had had so much more laid out before him. So much that it had taken him a year just to accept that it was real, and it was never, ever going away.

He shook his head, casual as ever, as he looked to Papyrus again.

“nah. im good.”

Toriel barely managed to usher them forward to blow out the candles anyway before the first tears slipped down her cheeks, and she turned to wipe them away so the boys wouldn’t see. Then she returned to the now-smoking cake and cut two small slices for them to have alongside the more substantial breakfast laid out on the table.

She watched them eat and picked at her own food, far too thoughtful to remember her appetite.

A year. It had been one year since she had found her boys. One year since she had brought them home. One year since she began this unexpected, painful, incredible journey.

And they were still here.

They weren’t the same boys who had stepped through the door to the Ruins. Physically, for one—even though she hadn’t been measuring them, she could tell they had grown. But on the inside …

They were still broken. Perhaps there was nothing she could do about that. Perhaps there would always be little cracks in their SOULs where they had suffered. Perhaps they would always remember the torture they had endured, no matter how much time passed or how many happy memories she piled on top of the bad ones.

But she saw far, far more smiles nowadays than she saw frowns or tears. And she was going to keep making more, for as long as she possibly could.

The boys finished eating in record time, Papyrus grabbing his brother’s hand as soon as he finished and dragging him into the sitting room toward the pile of presents.

She might have assumed the novelty had worn off, since they had already experienced Gyftmas. But Papyrus still picked out his first gift with the utmost care, making sure that Sans had one of his own. Then he peeled off the paper so that not a single corner was ripped.

It took a good two minutes before he got to the box inside, opening it just as slowly.

The second he pushed the flaps aside, she swore his eyesockets actually sparkled.

“OH! OH, BROTHER, LOOK!”

He pulled out the object within, raggedy, yet carefully-sewn, stuffed full and made from the softest fabric she could find.

“IT’S FLUFFY BUNNY!” he squealed, jittering as he looked back and forth between his brother and her. “IT’S FLUFFY BUNNY FROM THE BOOK!”

It had been years since she had sewn a stuffed animal, but with as many as she had made for Asriel—and as many as Chara had destroyed—she had never forgotten how. She never doubted it would be worth the hours she spent putting it together after the boys went to bed. Now, she was sure.

Sans, of course, had never been one to show enthusiasm quite like his brother, but his real grin was unmistakeable when he opened his first present to find a new robe. A robe with pockets and a hood. The same pockets and hood he had been admiring weeks before in an old robe of hers. Without even getting up from the floor, he tugged off his pajamas—ignoring Papyrus’s complaints about decency—and slipped the robe over his head, letting the fabric settle against him before he pulled up the hood and slipped his hands into the pockets.

Then he turned his smile to her, and she swore she saw stars in his eyes.

Papyrus’s squeal when he opened his bright red boots was really no surprise, but she more than appreciated the tight hug and stream of “thank you”s she got in return.

Toriel settled into her armchair with a quiet sigh after that, a little tired, but a satisfied sort of tired. The tiredness that comes with seeing the results of a job well done.

She engraved every smile, every squeal, every laugh, deep into her mind. Every precious moment, made no less precious by the assurance that there would be many, many more.

After all, the day had just begun.

And this was just the first birthday of countless more to come.


	38. Day 378: Tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you following the ask blog ... yes, this was written before that ask came in. Long before. I cracked up when I saw it.
> 
> (Thanks to everyone who has started asking questions there, by the way. God, that thing is fun. XD)

It was hard to remember a time when the laughter of children hadn’t been ordinary background noise throughout the afternoon.

Perhaps that was because of the time she had spent with Asriel and Chara, and her six human children. But after all how long she had been alone, it seemed a wonder that she had grown used to it this quickly.

Though not as much of a wonder as the fact that these children were laughing at all.

But as ordinary as it had become, she still smiled every time she heard it.

On this particular occasion, she was almost finished with dinner, just about to start her fire magic to cook the snail pie when she heard the giggles begin. Her face softened, and something within her warmed. But a moment later, she made out talking through the giggles. Arguing, though without any real malice. The sort of one-sided bickering that was more Papyrus scolding Sans for some perceived misdeed while Sans barely acknowledged his brother’s complaints.

She couldn’t quite resist setting the pie down and poking her head into the sitting room to see what had happened.

She barely held back a snort.

Apparently, the boys had gotten into her red yarn. She had told them they were welcome to it, especially since she had given them basic knitting lessons last week. But she had assumed they would be _knitting_ with it, rather than sitting on the rug, covered in what must have been half a skein, draped over their shoulders, around their arms and legs, on their heads, some of it even dipping into their eyesockets.

Yet despite apparently being unable to move in other ways, Sans had somehow managed to stick his hands in his pockets.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO PULL ON IT!” Papyrus whined, even as he gave the yarn around him a firm tug.

Sans shrugged. “it got stuck and you said you needed more.”

“BUT WE WERE SUPPOSED TO PULL IT GENTLY, NOT TUG IT!” Papyrus waved his arms in dismay. “NOW IT’S EVERYWHERE!”

“i dont think it wouldve gotten everywhere if you hadnt tried to wrestle it away from me, bro.”

“OH, NO, YOU’RE NOT PINNING THIS ON ME!”

“heh, good one.”

“WHA—SANS, I’M BEING SERIOUS HERE! BESIDES, THAT’S A SEWING PUN, THIS IS YARN!”

Sans looked very ready to counter that when she took a step forward, and both boys turned to face her. Despite his tangled state, Papyrus’s irritation immediately melted into a smile when he met her eyes.

“OH! HELLO, TORIEL!”

“hey, toriel,” Sans added, his own grin just as wide. He lifted up his arms, tugging on some of the yarn. “guess we got a little …”

Papyrus frowned. “SANS, DON’T.”

“TIED up.”

“UGH!”

Toriel had already been grinning hard enough to hurt her cheeks, yet somehow it managed to get worse. She brought a hand to her lips, looking them over and wishing she could grab the camera. Maybe she would, in a minute. But first …

“I can see that, my children,” she said, in her best stern mother voice, a faux-disappointed tone to her words. “I can- _knot_ believe you got yourselves into such a mess.”

Papyrus nodded enthusiastically enough to make more of the yarn fall over his eyesockets. “I WAS JUST TRYING TO START KNITTING A SCARF, LIKE YOU TAUGHT ME, BUT MY BROTHER—HEY! TORIEL, DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!”

Toriel didn’t think she had ever seen Sans smile quite so wide.

“i was thinking of making some jewelry later, too. but im gonna need some PURLS.”

“BROTHER!”

She pressed her lips together to stifle a snicker, grinning down at him, feeling far more like a child than she had in centuries.

“Well, Sans, do you know why Gyftmas trees are so bad at knitting?” she asked, her voice tinged with laughter despite her attempts to control it. “Because they kept dropping their needles!”

Papyrus threw his arms up in exasperation. “TORIEL!”

But she didn’t think Sans had even looked this happy at his birthday party, that look of adoration usually reserved for his brother turned to her, even if it wasn’t quite as strong.

“i think you hit the MOTHER _-_ load of puns,” he replied, one of his sockets closing in a quick wink.

It took all of three seconds for each of them, one by one, to realize exactly what he had said.

His smile remained, because he couldn’t wipe it away, but the lights in his eyes nearly vanished, and he ducked his head. His body tensed, and suddenly the yarn around him looked like ropes, trapping him in place and blocking all lines of escape.

“i-i mean …” he stuttered, looking everywhere but at her.

But Papyrus’s eyes refused to leave her, locked on every nuance of her expression as if his very life depended on it. “COULD WE?”

Toriel blinked. “Papyrus?”

“COULD WE … CALL YOU THAT?” he asked, hope eking into his tone, his sockets shining even as he fidgeted. “I’VE … THOUGHT ABOUT IT A LOT. THE MOTHERS IN MY BOOKS … THEY’RE A LOT LIKE YOU.”

Sans risked a glance at her before staring at the floor again, his hands stuck deep into the pockets of his robes. He shrugged, like it didn’t matter, though she had no doubt it did.

“s’okay if you dont want us to … i mean, you already had kids, and we …”

She didn’t let him finish.

She dropped to her knees in front of them and pulled them, yarn and all, into the tightest hug she could give without cracking their ribs.

They froze, but only seconds later she felt one long pair of arms wrap around her in return. A few seconds after that, a slightly shorter pair followed.

“You _are_ my children. My sons,” she breathed, her voice cracking under the tears growing behind her eyes. Her smile stretched so wide she wondered if her face wouldn’t snap in two. “You’ve been my sons for a very long time now.”

She felt both their heads snuggle against her chest, holding her tighter.

Only after a minute did they pull away, still within the embrace of her arms, but loose enough so they could tilt their heads up and meet her eyes.

“SO … CAN WE CALL YOU MOM?” Papyrus asked, his sockets wide and glistening.

Toriel chuckled, running a hand over each of their skulls. “I’d be most honored, Papyrus.”

Papyrus beamed, and even half-squished against her, he managed to clap. “OH YAY!”

Sans looked up at her in wonder, in awe, his smile as real as any other child’s, the lights of his eyes wide and oh so bright.

“glad we could all be trans-PARENT about this.”

Papyrus groaned. “SANS, YOU’RE RUINING THE MOMENT!”

Sans just grinned even wider. “dont worry, bro, we’ll always have a-MOTHER _._ ”

Toriel burst into laughter, Papyrus shouted in exasperation and stomped his foot, and Sans let his head rest once more against her chest.

It took fifteen minutes to get the yarn untangled from all their bones, and after sitting out so long uncooked, the pie didn’t taste half as good.

None of them cared.


	39. Day 391: Couple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know this is a teeny tiny baby chapter. There are a few teeny tiny baby chapters coming up (though this is the shortest). But there will also be several long chapters to balance it out!
> 
> As always, thanks so much, everyone. Oh, and once again, everything here is PLATONIC.

She doubted the first time she saw it was the first time it had happened.

Sans had always taken naps whenever and wherever he pleased, and the more comfortable he got in their home, the more creative he would become with his choices. On the couch, in her chair, on the floor. At the table. _On_ the table. Leaning against the wall. One time she found him asleep in the middle of a puzzle in the Ruins.

For a long time, Papyrus had simply complained and yelled at or poked his brother until he woke up. Sometimes he tried to keep him awake, and sometimes he just dragged him back to their room to continue his nap.

But while Sans had certainly grown over the past year, Papyrus still surpassed him by far.

So perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised her when he came into the kitchen one day to ask about dinner, and he was carrying a sleeping Sans in his arms as casually as he might carry a ball of yarn.

She almost said something about it. But there was nothing she could think of to say. So she just smiled a little wider and chatted on with him as if Sans wasn’t napping between them.

It didn’t stop. And since Papyrus didn’t seem to be straining himself—Sans really was quite small—she never commented.

But she couldn’t help the pleasant ache in her chest every time she caught Sans waking up just a bit, enough to widen his grin and snuggle deeper into his brother’s hold. Nor could she completely quell the urge to take a picture when Papyrus looked down at him, eyes soft and loving.

She was glad they let themselves need her.

Regardless, she knew they would never stop needing each other.


	40. Day 397: Between

Toriel opened her eyes to darkness, and for a few seconds, she couldn’t figure out what had woken her.

Then she recognized the familiar sensation of bones pressed against each of her sides, two thin arms stretched across her stomach, hands clasped right at the center.

She blinked and looked down.

If the boys hadn’t already been awake, the motion seemed to jostle them, and they both turned their heads to face her, Sans’s eyesockets drooping and even Papyrus’s only half-open. Papyrus shifted his gaze in a display of anxiety that seemed so rare nowadays, and his hand clutched Sans’s a little tighter.

“WE HAD A BAD DREAM.”

Sans nodded, not meeting her gaze. “so, uh … we … we thought …”

He trailed off, and after a few moments, Papyrus dared to look up at her again, still hesitant, unsure.

“YOU SAID IT WAS OKAY IF WE CAME IN.”

At last, the haze of sleep faded from Toriel’s mind, and her face, which must have been tight in surprise, softened into a smile as warm as the glow in her chest.

“Of course it is. You’re welcome anytime,” she said. She lifted her hands and stroked them over both their skulls. “Will you be able to get back to sleep now?”

After the first full caress, Sans’s eyes fell shut, and he snuggled back into her with a relaxed smile. His body went almost completely limp.

“hmm …”

“SANS!” Papyrus lowered his browbone in disapproval, even as his own eyesockets threatened to close. “TOR—MOM IS STILL TALKING! IT’S RUDE TO GO TO SLEEP NOW!”

Toriel chuckled, and as one hand continued to stroke Sans’s skull, her other rubbed Papyrus’s, moving in tiny circles she had long learned relaxed him better than anything.

“That’s perfectly fine, Papyrus. Let’s all get some rest.”

Papyrus blinked up at her even as he leaned into her touch and settled against her side. “ALRIGHT. GOODNIGHT … MOM.”

“Goodnight, my children,” she whispered, watching his eyes shut completely and his soft breath turn to soft snores.

She slept better that night than she had in years.


	41. Day 405: Conspire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what [missccp made](https://missccp.tumblr.com/post/161653321517/finally-finished-it-3-its-papyrus-turn-to-read) :D I LOVE IT IT'S ADORABLE THANK YOU SO MUCH!! Another amazing piece of artwork that is going on my wall to see every day, wow that's such a great thing to wake up to I'm beyond flattered ...
> 
> *clears throat* Anyway ... XD
> 
> Thanks for all your support, everyone! Hope you enjoy this longer chapter! :) (THANK YOU MISSCCP!)

She hadn’t even acknowledged the first birthday she spent with her two children.

She had glanced at the calendar, hummed to herself, then gone on with her day. She hadn’t told the boys. They were still so new to her then, and her to them. Now, she knew that they wouldn’t have even known what she meant if she told them.

But the day after their birthday, they had asked her about hers.

Perhaps that should have been her first big clue.

Sans was good at keeping secrets, almost as good as he was at discovering those of others. But Papyrus had only the most rudimentary skills in lying, and every time she knocked on their bedroom door, she could hear him scrambling to shove something under the bed before calling her to come in.

She knew something was under there. But she had promised Sans, more than a year ago now, that she would not look under the bed unless absolutely necessary, and even though she doubted he still kept a supply stash, she kept her promises.

Still, when she woke up on the morning of her birthday, she was absolutely certain something was up.

Not least of all because she had just heard a faint crash from across the house.

She sat up, eyes wide, but there were no sounds of crying, and the crash hadn’t been very loud. But regardless, she got dressed in under a minute and slipped out into the hall. The boys’ door was already open, and once she confirmed that they weren’t inside, she continued on, searching for the source of the noise.

Then, in the entrance to the sitting room, she stopped.

Her eyes fell on the rug, just in front of her chair. Her brow furrowed.

Were those … presents?

She looked closer. Yes, they were presents. Two large presents wrapped in carefully-decorated paper with huge, awkward bows on top. The paper barely covered the boxes, and it was crumpled almost all over. But they were definitely presents. She peered in just a little closer and found the hand-cut tags hanging on the bows.

_TO: MOM. LOVE, PAPYRUS_

_to mom, love sans_

There was no way she could have imagined it, but she had to read them twice to make herself believe it.

She didn’t bother to count how many years it had been since she had seen a tag with her name in a child’s handwriting.

But as much as she wanted to see the contents, see what her precious boys had wrapped up for her, she forced herself to stand at the sound of something in the kitchen. Or, more precisely, some _one_ in the kitchen.

She had already suspected the boys were awake. Apparently they had been up for a while. She paused, listening, but she couldn’t catch a word of what they were saying. She stepped forward as quietly as she could, poking her head through the open doorway to the kitchen and peering inside.

The kitchen, to put it very, very lightly, was messier than she had seen it in years.

She couldn’t quite identify everything that had been scattered all over the floor, and the counters, and the walls. Some of it was liquid, some powder, some a mixture of both.

And the same mixture coated both the bones and the clothes of two skeleton boys, standing in front of the counter, scrubbing away at the mess with already-soiled rags.

Papyrus looked up first. He stiffened with a small squeak. Sans turned a second later and froze as well, though his surprise didn’t stop him from sticking one messy finger into his mouth and cleaning the mystery-goo off of it.

She stared. The boys stared.

At last, Papyrus gave his best awkward smile and held his arms out toward the table, where—Toriel only just now noticed—a two layered chocolate cake with three candles on top sat in the midst of the chaos.

“UM … SURPRISE!"

Toriel blinked, too stunned to even think of talking. Papyrus glanced at Sans, and Sans glanced back. Then Papyrus cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“WE … WE TRIED TO MAKE THE CAKE IN THE BOOK, BUT THE FIRST BAG OF FLOUR EXPLODED, AND THE CHOCOLATE GOT EVERYWHERE, AND THE CAKE GOT A LITTLE … BURNT … AND WE TRIED TO PUT THE ICING ON TOO SOON, SO IT KIND OF MELTED …”

“and we made a huge mess,” Sans finished when his brother trailed off. He cleaned another finger off against his teeth. “sorry.”

He didn’t look particularly guilty, but she did catch a hint of sheepishness underneath his amusement.

Toriel tried to make her mouth move, but her eyes kept settling on the cake. The lopsided, gooey cake they had made. The lopsided, gooey cake _they_ had made for _her._ They must have been up for hours—or else stayed up after she had gone to bed. She had taught Papyrus some basic baking skills, but most of the time he just helped her with dinner and other meals. He had never made a cake. And she wasn’t sure Sans had ever made anything more complicated than a sandwich before in his life.

“MOM?” Papyrus asked, his voice tinged with anxiety. “YOU’RE NOT … ARE YOU MAD?”

She laughed, actually laughed, as she shook herself out of her reverie and took a step forward, ignoring the chocolate that got all over her feet.

“Oh, my children … I am the furthest thing from upset.” She turned back to the table with the fondest smile she had worn in weeks. “And I do believe this is the most beautiful cake I’ve seen in all my life.”

Papyrus broke into a beaming grin in under a second, his whole frame tall and tight with glee.

“REALLY?!”

“Without a doubt,” she replied, matching his smile. “And I bet it tastes even better.”

Papyrus clenched his hands together and nodded several times fast. “WE FOLLOWED THE RECIPE EXACTLY! WELL, ALMOST … I PUT IN A LITTLE EXTRA CINNAMON, BECAUSE YOU LIKE CINNAMON!”

“I do like cinnamon,” she agreed.

Sans wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, staring at a particularly thick lump of chocolate on the wall instead.

“we wanted to make sure you had a good birthday.” He shrugged. “y’know … like the one you gave us.”

Papyrus nodded, opening his mouth to add to what his brother had said.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Toriel stepped forward, dropped to her knees—she already had to wash the boys’ robes, washing her own wouldn’t make a difference—and pulled them both into a tight hug.

They froze. Just for a second. A far shorter second than just a few months before.

Then their bodies relaxed, and they hugged her back.

“Thank you so much, both of you,” she breathed. She gave them one more squeeze, then pulled back enough to look them in the eyes, letting them see the gleam in her own. “This is the best birthday I’ve had in a very, very long time.”

“BUT YOU JUST GOT UP!” Papyrus replied, browbone furrowed.

“Well, then that must mean it’s going to get even better,” she said with a chuckle and a smile so wide it hurt her cheeks. She stood up again, then made her way to the counter. Careless of her now-dirty hands, she opened the top cabinet and got out three plates, then picked three forks and a large knife from a nearby drawer. “Now, normally I might object to having only cake for breakfast, but … since it’s yet another special occasion … Papyrus, would you do the honors?”

She held out the knife—with the handle toward him, of course. Papyrus’s whole face lit up, and even Sans brightened.

“OH YAY!” Papyrus paused, before straightening again. “OH! OH! FIRST YOU NEED TO BLOW OUT YOUR CANDLES! EXCEPT THEY AREN’T LIT YET SINCE WE DON’T KNOW HOW.”

Toriel laughed, and with a flick of her fingers and a wave of her hand over the tips of the candles, the wicks burst into tiny flames. Then she took a deep breath, paused for effect, and blew them all out in one huff.

Papyrus cheered.

She didn’t get to cleaning the kitchen until that afternoon, and by then the chocolate had dried and caked onto the walls. Even with the boys’—well, Papyrus’s—eager help, it took more than two hours to clean it up, and she was fairly sure the walls would always keep a faint tint of brown.

And she would have done it a hundred times over again for one more birthday like this.


	42. Day 412: Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you everyone. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy one of my favorite chapters to write in this entire fic. ;)

There was nothing special about the day.

It was just an ordinary day. They all woke up. She made breakfast and lunch, wearing the oven mitts Papyrus knitted for her and making frequent use of the pockets for spoons and other kitchen tools Sans had stitched into her apron. Papyrus worked on his puzzles, and Sans alternated between napping, admiring the puzzles, and reading his advanced physics textbook. Both boys helped her with dinner.

And as had become their new habit, as the evening grew late and everyone began to yawn, Toriel sat down in her chair and offered a bedtime story.

Papyrus picked the book, as usual. Sans never seemed to mind what she read.

After the first few minutes, Papyrus climbed into her lap. A minute after that, Sans followed.

She didn’t even blink. They had done the same many times before.

But after ten minutes of reading, she paused to take a breath and turn to the next page. And as she did, she glanced down.

The book very nearly slid from her hands.

Green.

Their eyes were closed, and they were glowing a soft, bright green.

The fire still crackled next to them, but compared to that glow, it might as well have been a dying candle. There they were, cuddled up in her arms, holding each other as she held them. Their tiny bodies nestled into her robes, their bones completely relaxed, the lines of worry or pain or fear that had marred their faces so many times smoothed out. Their magic creating a faint buzz in the air, pleasant and calming, happiness rolling off of them as softly and as intensely as the light from their eyes.

Sans opened his eyesockets, squinting up at her, that green glow in his good eye almost as bright as that from both of his brother’s.

“you gonna finish, mom?” he murmured, voice heavy in half-sleep.

Toriel swallowed. Then she blinked away the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Of course, my child,” she murmured, unable to keep the hitch out of her voice. “Of course.”

Five minutes later, both of them were asleep, but she kept reading, and once there was nothing left to read, she just sat there, staring at the green glow as if it were the only thing in all the Underground that mattered.

And it was.


	43. Day 449: Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the heck did _1630 kudos happen?!_ *collapses in shock* Wow. Just ... wow.
> 
> InkForOne, you brought up this chapter quite a while ago - it's not exactly what you asked for (it was already in the story plan when you requested it), but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. :)

Sans found it almost impossible to pick his favorite activity in Home. Sleeping and meals were obviously the most comfortable, but nothing quite beat the buzz of reading a new textbook or the relaxation of quiet evenings in front of the fire, on the rug with his brother or nestled in Mom’s arms. And of course, watching Papyrus make or solve a new puzzle was its own kind of reward.

But if he had to _pick,_ he might have chosen Scavenging Days, if only because of how much he loved seeing the excited, fascinated gleam in his brother’s eyes.

Finding some fun new junk was a nice perk, too.

“SANS! LOOK AT THIS!”

Oh, jeez, who was he kidding? Seeing Papyrus this excited was all he needed.

Sans turned from where he had been poking through a pile of mostly trash. His “loot bag,” as Papyrus liked to call it, was still almost empty, but that was normal—he usually only got half as much junk as his brother did. He found Papyrus standing several yards away, holding something grayish and rectangular in his hands, about the size of his skull.

“what’d you find, bro?” he asked.

Papyrus hummed, browbone furrowed as he tilted the object back and forth, looking at it from every possible angle.

“I DON’T KNOW … I’VE NEVER SEEN ONE BEFORE. IT LOOKS LIKE SOME SORT OF MACHINE.” He met Sans’s eyes. “DO YOU THINK MOM WILL KNOW WHAT IT IS?”

Sans shrugged. “dunno. we could ask her when we get back.”

Papyrus grinned and nodded, apparently satisfied.

“OKAY. I’LL DO THAT.”

Then he tucked the machine into his bag and continued in his search for somewhat-valuable junk.

They spent another fifteen minutes wandering the Ruins before Sans started lagging, and before he could say a word, he felt his bag being taken out of his hands. Papyrus swung both of their bags onto his back, and a second later, lifted Sans into his arms. Sans let out a soft sigh, mixed with a yawn, nestling his head against his brother’s shoulder. He was out after the first five steps.

He woke to the round of rustling and chattering in front of him, and opened his eyes to find himself laying in Mom’s armchair, while Papyrus and Mom herself sat on the rug in front of him, the contents of the two bags dumped out on the floor.

Sans groaned and stretched his arms over his head. Mom looked up to give him a smile, but Papyrus just kept rooting through the pile of junk. Briefly, Sans considered helping them, but he was really comfortable where he was, and they seemed to be doing perfectly well on their own. So he settled back against the cushions and watched his two favorite people work.

It took less than a minute before Mom pulled out the machine Papyrus had found so fascinating during their search. She clutched it with both hands, her face lighting up in a wide grin.

“Oh! I haven’t seen one of these in ages. I thought they were all taken when the other monsters left …”

“WHAT IS IT?” Papyrus asked, clambering up to see it more closely. Even Sans pushed himself forward in his seat to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

“It’s a cassette player,” Mom replied, turning the machine over in her hands. “It’s, well … there are many different ways to play music. I know of several other ways, including storing sound on thin, round discs of various sizes, then placing them in a player to play back the music out loud. Records, or ‘see-dees’ or something of that sort.”

She paused, then shrugged off her own uncertainty.

“But if I remember correctly, this is called a cassette player.”

“AND IT … PLAYS MUSIC?” Papyrus leaned in further, his sockets wider than Sans had seen them in weeks. “LIKE THE THINGS YOU SING TO US BEFORE BED SOMETIMES?”

She hummed and nodded. “Yes, but much more complex. There are things called instruments—I should see if I can find one for you sometime—that make different sounds and, consequently, different kinds of music. They … how about I just show you?”

Papyrus beamed, and Sans gave a quick nod, finally climbing off the chair to join them on the floor. Mom flipped the machine back over and pressed one of the buttons at the top. The front seemed to pop off, and both boys peered closer.

“Ah, we’re in luck!” Toriel said with a grin. “There’s already a cassette tape in the player. Let’s see if it still works …”

She pressed another button, and a high-pitched buzzing came from the machine. Sans flinched—it wasn’t the drill, he knew it wasn’t the drill, there weren’t even any drills around here, but it was high-pitched and it whined and—then it stopped as Toriel lifted her finger from the button. She pressed another.

And a new sound came out.

It was … strange. Papyrus was right, it was a little like the lullabies Mom sometimes sung to them before bed. But the sounds were different, and it wasn’t just voices. It was … cheerful and smooth and bright.

In a strange sort of way, it reminded him of his brother.

Papyrus clapped his hands, grinning all the way across his skull.

“OH! IS THAT MUSIC?”

“Yes, my child,” Mom said, clearly pleased. “I suppose it does work!”

Papyrus squealed, grabbing his brother’s arm and tugging him closer. “SANS, SANS, LISTEN!”

“im listenin, bro,” Sans muttered, but not without a wider smile as he leaned against Papyrus’s side.

“IT’S WONDERFUL! I LOVE IT! WE HAVE TO FIND MORE ‘CASSETTE TAPES’ AND LISTEN TO MORE MUSIC AND … MOM, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Sans looked up. Mom had gotten to her feet, leaving the machine on the floor, and was moving back and forth. She wasn’t walking, and nothing seemed to be wrong with her. She swayed her hips from side to side, her arms following the motion.

“I’m dancing, Papyrus,” she replied, just before doing a slow twirl, making the bottom of her robes fly up a bit.

Papyrus tilted his head. “WHAT IS DANCING?”

Mom twirled again, the other way this time.

“It is what you do when you listen to music.”

“OH!” Without a second’s pause, Papyrus stood, buzzing with excitement. “SANS, WE HAVE TO DANCE NOW!”

Sans chuckled. “nah, im good bro, ill just—hey!”

But his protest was ignored as Papyrus yanked him to his feet and began to sway just like Mom, pulling Sans right along with him. Sans grumbled, but didn’t fight back, and in a minute he found himself moving on his own, following the beat of the music and the movements of the two people beside him.

He had no idea what dancing what supposed to look like, but he doubted it was as silly and random as this.

This was way better.

The tape went on for another half hour before it finally stopped, the music fading off into silence. Then Papyrus snatched up the machine and, with Mom’s instruction, “rewound” it to start again.

This time, when the high-pitched sound filled the room, Sans didn’t even flinch.

The three of them danced until they collapsed in a laughing pile on the floor.


	44. Day 504: Undercover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I've never mentioned my other fic here. Several of you have left comments on it (thank you!!), but if you haven't seen it and you enjoy angst and torture and pain, check out [It's Raining Right Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11118105/chapters/24815064). On the other hand, if you enjoy happy families where nothing ever goes wrong ... stay here. Seriously, don't go there. XD
> 
> Also, _the heck, 49 new kudos, holy crap_?!?! Wow. O.O Really, thank you, everyone.

He had had his targets in sight for more than a minute now, but they still hadn’t seen him.

Good. If he moved quietly, maybe they wouldn’t notice him at all.

They were distracted. Completely, foolishly distracted, the larger one on the floor looking at a workbook with the smaller one. The smaller one had become very interested in learning math lately, likely because his brother talked about it so often. He had known so little of it only a couple of weeks ago, but he was progressing quickly. It looked like they were practicing division today, if their mutterings were anything to go by.

He took a step forward. Neither of them looked up.

He got down on the floor, covering himself almost completely, leaving just enough of his face free to see where he was going. And as he had learned to do long ago, he wriggled along the floor without making a sound.

Closer and closer, and with each inch he moved, they never suspected a thing. They focused on the book, on the papers next to it, the larger one gently directing the smaller one as he focused on the latest problem. Closer and closer, until he hid behind the chair, only a few feet away.

He waited. He breathed. The smaller one wrote something down, squinted at it, and broke into a wide grin. The larger one patted him on the shoulder and smiled in return.

And Sans pounced.

Blanket still pulled over his body, he leapt up from the floor with the strongest roar he could manage and threw himself onto Papyrus and Mom, tackling them to the ground. Mom stayed up, she was too big for him to knock over, but Papyrus fell, landing on his front with a small _oof._

Before had a chance to speak, Sans’s fingers were on his ribs.

Papyrus shrieked.

“NO! SANS, NO, LET GO! NO NO NO _BROTHER!!_ ”

But Sans only tickled harder, fingers trailing up and down over each rib through the fabric of his robe, his grin threatening to split his face as he made more fake growling sounds to keep up his now-pointless facade.

Papyrus wriggled back and forth, thrashing his arms against the rug. “MOM, HELP!” he cried, and only then did Sans noticed Mom watching them with a barely-disguised grin.

At Papyrus’s plea, she laid a dramatic hand to her chest and gasped.

“Oh, dear! It seems that one of my precious children has been taken captive by the vicious Blanket Monster! Whatever shall I do?” A glint of something like mischief flashed in her eyes. “Oh, I know! I must retaliate! You shall not have my child, foul beast!”

Just like that, Mom was on him, knocking him off of Papyrus and going after his ribs and his feet, oh _god,_ not his feet!

He kicked and squealed and squirmed, but even with the bit of extra height he had gained since their last tickle fight, Mom still far overpowered him. All he could do was lay there and try his best to get away as Mom, and a few seconds later, his brother, tickled their former assaulter with just as little mercy as he had shown them.

He didn’t think he had laughed so hard in his life.

In the back of his mind, just for a second, he could see himself hiding under a large white coat, tackling his brother and tickling him as he shrieked. He could see a tall skeleton taking the coat and walking away, leaving him sobbing on the floor as his brother tried to comfort him.

He could see himself marveling later at how silly it was to sob over a lost coat, when there was so much worse to cry about now.

Then Papyrus tickled the bottom of his foot, and all he could focus on was kicking his leg in his best attempt to shake him.

By the time they let up, tears were streaming from his sockets, and his breath came in tight huffs.

The Blanket Monster had been trounced, plainly, simply, and very thoroughly.

And staring up into the smiling faces of his two conquerers was, without a doubt, one of the best feelings in the world.


	45. Day 656: Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much, everyone. Your support never fails to be incredible. :)
> 
> Just a heads-up that I'll be taking a one-week hiatus from my stories. Things have gotten extremely busy in my personal life, and I need some time to catch up on everything. So Butterscotch will be back with another chapter on Tuesday, July 4th. See you all then!

Toriel had always been an early riser, so early that it was rare that the boys got up before her—even Papyrus, who she suspected didn’t need nearly as much sleep as most children, but especially Sans, who probably would have slept in until the afternoon if his brother didn’t drag him out of bed. They had managed it occasionally, most notably on her birthday, but the rest of the time, she was usually finishing up breakfast by the time she heard their tiny skeleton feet clatter on the floor.

Today was no different.

“GOOD MORNING, MOM!” came Papyrus’s voice, even more cheerful than usual, from the kitchen doorway.

“hey, mom,” Sans added with a yawn, but when she turned to face him, she found his grin as content as it was sleepy.

She grinned back as she took the last waffle from the waffle iron and placed it on the large ceramic serving dish beside her, already piled high with more waffles than the three of them could ever eat.

“Good morning, my children. Did you sleep well?”

Papyrus’s smile had already been pushing the limits of his skull, but now it came very close to breaking them.

“OH, I SLEPT EXCELLENTLY! AND I THINK SANS DID AS WELL!”

“yup,” Sans agreed, flopping down in his usual chair at the table, lazy grin intact. “pretty great.”

As hard as she listened, she couldn’t catch even a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Papyrus took his own seat next to his brother, sitting up straight as always, his posture even better than Toriel’s on her best days. He hadn’t stopped beaming.

“WE SHARED THE MOST AMAZING DREAM LAST NIGHT!” he said as she placed the final breakfast dish on the table and sat down herself. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT IT?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she replied.

Sans, in the meantime, reached across the table and piled several waffles onto his plate, and as Papyrus seemed too distracted to care about eating, did the same for his brother. Then he put three onto Toriel’s, flashing her a brief, wider grin.

“OKAY!” Papyrus’s exuberant voice draw both their attention back to him once more. “WELL, FIRST WE WERE ON THE SURFACE! I DON’T KNOW HOW WE GOT THERE, BUT IT WAS AMAZING! THE SKY WAS PURPLE, FOR SOME REASON, EVEN THOUGH YOU SAID IT WAS BLUE, AND THE TREES WERE MADE ENTIRELY OF CHOCOLATE! MY BROTHER KEPT TRYING TO EAT THEM, BUT I TOLD HIM IT WOULD BE BAD IF HE ATE ALL THE TREES AND THEN THERE WERE NONE LEFT. SO THEN I—”

Toriel found her mind drifting as Papyrus went on, looking at them sitting across the table from her, as they had so many mornings before.

When was the last time they had described anything but good dreams?

They had had that nightmare a while back, hadn’t they? The one that drove both of them to climb into her bed. How long ago had that been? Had they had one after that? They had climbed into bed with her anyway from time to time, because they had trouble sleeping or, as Papyrus said, they just missed her—and apparently she made a better pillow than any she could provide.

But it had been months since their last real bad dream.

They might have just not told her. They didn’t tell her everything, even now—there were things they would never tell her, no matter how much time passed. Horrors they had buried so deep even they could hardly remember them. It could have been that they dreamed of those horrors and just decided not to bring it up.

She doubted it.

Watching them now, there was a peace on their faces, _both_ of their faces, that would have been very difficult to fake. The sort of peace she had once wondered whether they would ever feel. The sort of peace that had seemed nearly impossible for two children who had suffered so much.

The sort of peace that now made up nearly every day of their lives.

“—MOM? MOM, ARE YOU LISTENING?”

Toriel’s head snapped up, and she blinked out of her reverie to find Papyrus staring at her, while Sans added more powdered sugar to his waffles and gathered another large bite on his fork.

“I’m sorry, my child, I must have been daydreaming,” she said, giving him a brief, apologetic smile.

“OH,” Papyrus replied, not a hint of irritation in his tone. “DID YOU DREAM ANYTHING INTERESTING?”

She chuckled. “Certainly nothing as interesting as your dream. Please, continue.”

Papyrus just beamed once again.

“OKAY! WELL, THEN, ME AND SANS TOOK THE DOLPHIN TO SEE THE CHOCOLATE TREES SO SHE COULD DECIDE IF SHE WANTED TO BUILD HER HOUSE THERE.”

His waffles had gone cold by the time he finished his story, but at his disappointed frown, Toriel just heated them up with some fire magic and asked Sans to tell her about the constellations he had been learning while his brother listened and ate.


	46. Day 710: Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you're checking your favorite artist's Tumblr and you see your own post reblogged and you just stare thinking you ended up on the wrong page. *it's been four days and my face is still red oh my god*
> 
> *clears throat* ANYWAY ...
> 
> Hi everyone! Back from my conference, and back on schedule for these few remaining chapters. It's amazing how weird it feels not to post for a week when you've been posting four chapters a week for several months. XD As always, thanks so much for all your kind words, and I hope you enjoy this ... slightly less fluffy, but still kinda fluffy chapter.

It had become more and more common that she spent time with one of the boys without the other, but it was still rare that she did so for long. Papyrus often cooked meals with her or accompanied her to the flowerbed or to work on puzzles. She still trained Sans from time to time, and sometimes she sat down with him to help explain a concept he was reading about in one of his textbooks—though frankly, he had surpassed her in several areas of science already. But other than that, most of the time, they were together, either with her or without her.

It was even rarer that she spent time with only one of them when they weren’t doing anything in particular.

Especially when it was _Papyrus._

Papyrus hadn’t done _nothing_ since the early days. And even now, she supposed he was still doing _something,_ even if that something was wandering around the sitting room without any real aim while she dusted off the bookshelf. Sans had gone into their room for a nap a while ago, but rather than get to work on a puzzle or play with his toys or cook or even read, Papyrus had come into the sitting room and started wandering. Not even talking.

Every one of her maternal instincts was buzzing at once.

She gave him a full ten minutes, but when he still didn’t say a word—a record for him, at least in recent months—she broke the silence with a careful clearing of her throat.

“You’ve been quiet today, Papyrus.”

Papyrus froze and looked up, eyes wide, like he had been caught in the middle of doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“HM?” He stared at her for a moment before his mind seemed to catch up with her question. He put his hands behind his back. “OH, YES. I’VE BEEN … THINKING.”

“May I ask what about?” she asked, head tilted in a mimic of his classic gesture.

She had meant it in a teasing tone, but he fidgeted, as if the question made him uncomfortable. But she gave him a few seconds to collect himself, and at last, he looked to her again.

“YOU … I KNOW YOU STILL MISS YOUR CHILDREN VERY MUCH.”

Toriel blinked. It had been months since any of them had talked about Asriel or Chara. Of course, she still went to visit Chara’s grave every day, almost without exception, and sometimes the boys came with her. But more often than not, they spent the journey talking about what to make for dinner or how well Papyrus’s latest puzzle was coming along, and only held a moment of silence while they actually watered the flowers.

Her brow furrowed as she gave a slight nod.

“Yes, I do,” she replied. “I always will. But you’re my children now, too.”

Papyrus had always been so easy to satisfy. His worries were brushed aside like a thin layer of dust on the mantelpiece. But not today. Today, his eyes kept shifting around the room, his mouth tilted in a worried frown.

“DID YOU …” he started, though he couldn’t seem to finish.

After a minute’s silence, she moved forward until she stood just in front of him, then got down on her knees. “Yes, Papyrus?”

Still, he hesitated. She felt like they had gone back a year—or two years, their second birthday with her was coming up so soon. But she forced herself back to the present. This was her Papyrus, and they had come so far, and no matter what was wrong, they weren’t going back now.

At last, he took a deep breath, let it out, and risked a glance up at her face.

“DID YOU ONLY WANT US BECAUSE YOU MISSED ASRIEL AND CHARA?”

Toriel’s insides froze. For a second, she could hardly think, just staring into those wide, uncertain eyesockets. She blinked several times fast, but by the time she managed to open her mouth, Papyrus had opened his once more.

“I’M SORRY. THAT WAS A BAD THING TO ASK,” he said, turning his gaze down—when was the last time he hadn’t wanted to meet her eyes? “I JUST THINK … SOMETIMES … WHEN YOU LOOK AT US, AND SAY NICE THINGS, I WONDER … IF … YOU JUST SEE THEM. IF YOU JUST WISH YOU HAD THEM BACK, AND YOU ONLY WANT US BECAUSE … WE’RE HERE.”

Toriel swallowed hard, then let out a long heavy breath.

“Oh, Papyrus …” She shook her head, brow tilted up in concern. “How long have you been thinking this?”

His head snapped back up.

“OH, NOT VERY LONG. WELL, MAYBE A WHILE, BUT NOT A _LONG_ WHILE. MAYBE A BIT OF A LONG WHILE, JUST NOT A VERY LONG WHILE. WELL … MAYBE ALMOST THE WHOLE TIME WE’VE BEEN HERE, BUT NOT THE _WHOLE_ TIME, JUST—”

“Papyrus.”

Papyrus’s jaw clamped shut. He looked away again, shier than she had seen him in months, before looking to her again.

“… YES?”

Toriel pursed her lips at seeing her enthusiastic, bright boy so hesitant. She laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “There are things in you and your brother that remind me of Asriel and Chara. Just like there are things in you and Sans that remind you of myself, or each other.”

“REALLY?” he asked, apparently intrigued. “I DIDN’T THINK ME AND SANS WERE VERY MUCH ALIKE.”

She chuckled. “No, you’re quite different. But not in every way. You both love each other very much, and would do anything for each other.”

He gave a slow and thoughtful nod.

“THAT’S TRUE. AND WE LOVE YOU VERY MUCH, TOO.”

“Just as I love you,” she replied, letting all that love seep into her voice, into her eyes, filling her up until she nearly burst. She lifted a hand and ran it over his skull. She felt him relax, just a bit, and smiled wider. “And I love you for who _you_ are, no matter if you remind me of someone else from time to time. Sans is Sans. He can be hard-working and lazy all at the same time, he loves physics and math and astronomy, he’s quiet but still has a lot to say, and he is very strong despite his weaknesses.”

Keeping her hand on his head, stroking from front to back in the gesture she had learned long ago would calm both boys with ease, she used her other to guide him closer to her. She leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss just above his browbone.

“And you are Papyrus,” she breathed. “My sweet, selfless, incredibly loving Papyrus, who is unbelievably talented at puzzles, who sees the good in people when no one else can, who is forgiving and gentle and compassionate, more so than any monster I’ve ever met.”

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. But they were happy tears, and she welcomed them, even when she had to blink several times to clear her vision again. She gave Papyrus’s shoulder one more squeeze.

“And you are my sons.”

Papyrus’s breath hitched, but it wasn’t a sad sound either. He was smiling again, bright and happy, as bright as his eyes, now glowing a soft green.

“AND … AND YOU’RE OUR MOM,” he said, very quietly for him, but with no less conviction. “YOU’RE STILL THEIR MOM, BUT … YOU’RE OUR MOM, TOO.”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

He nodded back. At last, her hands fell from his body, and he stood up straighter, proud and strong even though she caught a glimpse of tears at the corners of his still-glowing sockets.

“THANK YOU, MOM. I FEEL MUCH BETTER NOW.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, I noticed you were working on a new puzzle this morning,” Toriel replied, a mischievous tilt to her voice.

And just like that, Papyrus was right back to beaming. He grabbed her hand and tugged her forward, though she didn’t actually move an inch until she got to her feet and walked on her own.

“OH YES! I’LL SHOW IT TO YOU! I THINK I DID A VERY GOOD JOB THIS TIME!”

Even as her thoughts wandered, Toriel couldn’t help but smile wider still.

She stared at them all afternoon. She tried, she really _tried,_ to see Asriel or Chara in her two boys. She still saw similarities, of course, as she would between almost any two people. Papyrus’s innocence and eagerness to please, so like Asriel’s. Sans’s quick thinking and sharp wit, which would have given Chara a run for their money.

But she didn’t see them.

All she saw were Sans and Papyrus. Papyrus and Sans.

Her sons.

The ones she had found. The ones who had followed her, even though they were scared. The ones who had come, every so slowly, to trust her. The ones who had stayed.

The ones she knew, now, would be with her for as long as the three of them lived.


	47. Day 781: Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna say anything about this one. For those of you who follow the Ask the Butterscotch Family blog, no, this is not canon to the blog. Or, at least, the boys stop aging before this point. ;)

Toriel had just set the plates down for breakfast, and was about to ask Papyrus if he’d like some berries on his pancakes, when she found herself pausing, frozen in place.

The two brothers had been in the midst of a light-hearted argument over how much syrup was acceptable on a plate of two large pancakes, but as usual, it took them only a few seconds to notice her sudden distress.

“mom?” Sans asked, head tilting.

Papyrus leaned in and peered at her with concerned eyes.

She shook her head. “Do either of you … feel like we may have forgotten something?”

The boys looked at each other, browbones furrowed, then back to her. Sans brought two fingers to his teeth, like he did when working on a particularly difficult physics problem.

“well … papyrus finished all his puzzles. and checked to make sure no one would get caught in them.”

Papyrus nodded. “SANS CHECKED THEM FOR ME.”

“did you leave somethin in the oven?” Sans asked.

Toriel shook her head as her eyes roamed over everything she had set on the table. “No, I didn’t even use the oven today …”

They all paused, silent, deep in thought. Toriel looked at her sons. Was it something to do with them? What could she have forgotten? It wasn’t their birthday: that had been almost two months ago. It definitely wasn’t _her_ birthday: they had thrown her quite the elaborate celebration more than a week earlier. Certainly they had things to do today, things to bake, to mend, to maintain, but nothing this important.

A minute later, Papyrus looked up to meet her eyes, still thoughtful.

“WELL … YOU TOLD ME THAT IF YOU FORGOT IT THAT EASILY, IT CAN’T HAVE BEEN VERY IMPORTANT. RIGHT?”

And with that, almost all of Toriel’s concern drifted away. A smile touched her lips, and she nodded.

“That’s right, Papyrus.” She looked from one to the other, then stretched her hands across the table to take each of their hands. Her eyes lingered, just for a second, on the metal plates—where had they come from again?—before she shook it off and smiled wider, her gaze infinitely fond. “And I know for a fact that I have everything I need right here.”

Sans’s shoulders sagged, and his smile grew a little wider, his sockets crinkling at the corners as he looked to his brother, then to Toriel again.

“yeah. me too.”

“AND ME!” Papyrus added, beaming.

“Oh!” Toriel said a second later, her smile calmer now as she reached for the bowl at the center of the table. “I did forget something. Papyrus, would you like some berries on your pancakes?”

“OH! YES, PLEASE!”

“Very well. Sans?”

“nah, im good.”

“ARE YOU SURE, BROTHER? WE PICKED THEM YESTERDAY, THEY ARE REALLY VERY— _SANS!_ YOU CAN’T DRINK THE SYRUP!”

“s’good.”

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO _POUR_ —AUGH! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU SOMETIMES!”

Toriel chuckled, shaking her head in overwhelming fondness.

Yes. They had each other. They were happy.

And no amount of forgotten trifles would ever be able to change it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I was smirking the entire time I wrote this. I love the poetic justice of Handplates, and really wanted to recreate that here.
> 
> This assumes, of course, that Gaster would still fall into the Core eventually without the boys around - which I'm pretty sure he wouldn't, based on the tags on [this comic](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/160425016256/ahhh-can-we-get-more-mercyplates-please-love). But frankly, regardless of his actual intelligence, I feel like he’s both arrogant and lacking in common sense enough to fall into his own creation anyway. [This](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/155274187739/previous-next-hey-remember-way-back-when) illustrates that pretty well. Plus I really wanted to do this, so I'm doing it anyway. XD


	48. Day 0: Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [LOOK AT THIS. WHY IS THERE SO MUCH GREAT FANART FOR MY STORY](http://numberlessneedle.deviantart.com/art/We-ll-Fly-Away-691240578). And I'm fairly sure I reblogged [THIS HEARTBREAKING ADORABLE THING](https://o-human-bill-cipher-o.tumblr.com/post/161716036768/my-take-on-what-papys-drawing-looked-like-ch-14) on my Tumblr, but I can't remember if I posted it here, so just in case, here you go! (You guys are fantastic.) Also, several people have private messaged me drawings and animations (!!) and even though I can't reblog them or post them, I want to say _thank you so flipping much_.
> 
> Trigger warning for this chapter: blood, vaguely violent death, partial panic attack, suicide ideation, and solitary confinement. Yeah, this one’s a doozy. 
> 
> And also definitely the longest chapter in this fic. None of this is canon to Handplates, by the way, except for references to [this comic](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/154656874054/previous-next-this-is-a-good-way-to-scar) and [this one](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/155697360356/previous-next-another-day-down-surely-you) and the fact that Gaster [does](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/145532964748/aaaaaa-so-many-messagesss-i-was-papyrus-haha-my) separate them as his main twisted punishment. After those comics, my story diverges.

The human was dead.

She had heard his last cries, seen his little body collapse, bloodied and motionless, tears still streaked down his face. She saw Asgore kneel in front of him, face pinched, murmuring something like an apology as he drew out the pale blue SOUL and trapped it in a glass container.

And she saw Asgore look up to find her standing in the doorway, her jaw slack, her eyes burning, fury and pain and sorrow and—

Louis.

The boy’s name was Louis.

No older than six. Tan skin, dark brown, messy hair just long enough to tie a faded ribbon in on the side. Holding a toy knife, the one without a speck of dust, the one he had _never used as a weapon before_ , but the one he had held up with the last hope of defending himself.

And now he lay still on the ground, those big, scared eyes empty and wide-open.

Staring at her. Through her.

She could have saved him. She _should_ have saved him. So why had she just stood there, why had she frozen, why had she _watched,_ why didn’t she—

Toriel’s eyes shot open, and she held back a scream.

Then she froze.

Her eyes fell on her ceiling. The ceiling of her bedroom. Her bedroom in the Ruins.

She flopped back on the pillow with a long, heavy sigh.

Of course. It wouldn’t have really mattered if she had screamed. No one would have been around to hear her, anyway.

She ran a hand over her face, wiping away the tears that had fallen without her notice. After all this time, she might have thought she would stop crying. But she never did.

It was an old dream. An old memory.

But no matter how many years passed, she doubted it would ever get easier to bear.

Louis. Little Louis, who she had never even gotten the chance to know, whose name she wouldn’t even know if not for a monster who had overheard it, was dead.

And Sam. Her Sam, the tough, spunky girl who stood up after falling into the flowerbed as if nothing had happened, brushing herself off and strutting through the Ruins like she owned them. She had stayed for a week, but insisted that she had to get home, that she wasn’t scared of the monsters in the Underground. That she would be fine.

Hisoka. Hisoka, she had thought would stay. Ze was so young, so sweet, spending zir time dancing to tunes no one else could hear and climbing into her lap for a story. Ze had been there for months, made Asriel’s old bed zir own, even added a few decorations to the room. But eventually, ze left, too, promising that once ze got out, ze would drop a letter down into the mountain for her, to let her know that ze was okay.

The letter never came.

Aleah, always pushing up her glasses and taking notes on every new thing she found. Max, who helped her cook and even spiced up a few of her old recipes. Bianca, so eager to pretend to be a “cowgirl”—whatever that was—with her hat and toy gun, but quick to choose Mercy if a real fight began.

They were all gone. They had all walked through that door and left her.

On more than one occasion, she had wanted to leave, to try and find them. To try to find out what had happened to them. To see if there was still something she could do for them, if they were still alive, if maybe they hadn’t made it to the castle, or if they had, if they had reached the Surface and—

But somewhere, deep inside her, she didn’t need to check for evidence.

She knew there would be nothing left to find.

She knew that if any of her human children had made it safely to the Surface, they would have sent some kind of sign.

They hadn’t made it.

Asgore had killed them.

Six SOULs. He had six SOULs now. One more and he would reach the Surface. One more … and he would make good on the promise he had made, to destroy all of humanity and let monsters rule the Surface.

_In peace._

What kind of _peace_ could he create out of such violence?

How could he say he was any better than the humans, if he killed innocent children, then wiped out an entire race?

Her throat closed up, and she had to take a few seconds to force herself to breathe.

There was no point getting upset over it right now. There were no humans here. No one had else fallen—as far as she knew, though she would go to check after breakfast. Until one did, there was nothing she could do.

But somehow, the idea of just going about an ordinary day, watching over the Ruins, reading, knitting, maintaining, didn’t seem enough.

She adjusted herself against her pillow, staring at the ceiling and letting her mind wander. It had been so long since she had last gone out for supplies. Usually she would just scavenge the Ruins—there were still places she hadn’t checked—but the garbage dump had always been a far more plentiful resource. Had she even marked the date of her last venture? Had she ever turned the page on that calendar by the stairs?

Either way, she needed to go soon. She was fine for now, and surely she could _manage_ indefinitely _,_ but if another human fell, she would need to have enough to keep them happy. To make them just a little more likely to stay, if only for a _little_ longer.

Make it so they wouldn’t want to leave.

She didn’t think she could do it again. No, she _couldn’t_ do it again.

Not another child. Not another precious little life.

And not when that one last life would mean the destruction of all humanity.

She always felt like a sentry abandoning her post when she left. But it had been a while since the last human fell. In all likelihood, no one would be there when she got back. She had done it before, and she would have to do it again.

Maybe it would do her some good to see what the world had become in her absence. Maybe she would see something, anything, that would give her hope. Maybe she would even see a familiar face, a friendly face, one that hadn’t yet betrayed her.

She could use a glimpse. Even if a glimpse was all she ever got.

Toriel closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed herself up in bed.

It was still early, but she had a lot of preparation to do if she was really going to make the journey tonight. She would need to cook something to eat along the way, and make sure the flowers were tended, the house was dusted, and all the Froggits and Whimsuns and the other little monsters around the Ruins were content. And, of course, marking the solutions to all the puzzles near the flowerbed, just in case a human did fall while she was gone.

But she would be back soon. It would only take her a few hours to get to the garbage dump, and a few hours more to get back. If all went well, she could still visit the flowerbed tomorrow afternoon, just a little later than usual.

Tomorrow, she would be back here again, going through her daily routine as she had for years.

Waiting for the next human to fall, and battling the two desires clashing within her.

Her hope that the seventh human would never come, so that no more would ever leave, and no more would ever die.

And her selfish wish that one would, so that she would no longer be alone.

She climbed out of bed, pulled on her robe, and stepped out into the hall, ready to begin yet another day of many more to come.

*

Four cycles.

It had been four cycles since One had seen his brother.

It had never been for four cycles before. At least, he didn’t think so. Maybe while he had been unconscious, he had never asked his brother how long that had been.

He should ask him when he got back.

When he got back …

He was coming back. He _had_ to come back. He couldn’t stay gone forever, He had to bring him back, He couldn’t keep them separated, He couldn’t—

He could. He could do whatever He wanted to.

And One couldn’t stop Him.

Four cycles.

What if he didn’t come back?

One didn’t know how long he had been curled up on the bench, staring at the wall with blank sockets. He had tried glowing at first, tried to comfort himself as best he could, but it wasn’t the same. His eye was broken and the other wasn’t enough and everything was cold and hard and quiet and _god he needed his brother_ —

If they hadn’t panicked—

If He hadn’t grabbed their SOULs— _pain fear pain pain brother hurting stop stop stop—_

And then He took Brother away.

Said that if they wouldn’t obey Him, if they wouldn’t be quiet and cooperate, if they wouldn’t stop screaming and crying and struggling, He would just have to separate them until they would comply and …

One whimpered.

He wasn’t coming back. His brother was never coming back. He was alone, he would always be alone, he wanted to die, he just wanted to die, he should have died a long time ago. He could die now. It would be so easy, if he ran into the forcefield, maybe it would hurt him, maybe it would be enough to kill him, if he just got up and ran into it then maybe this would all end and—

Footsteps sounded just down the hall. The familiar, heavier set, the set that still came every day to drag him off to whatever test or examination or experiment had been planned.

One’s head perked up.

No. There were _two_ sets of footsteps.

And one of them was—

He sat up on the bench, his eyes locked on the doorway. And sure enough, seconds later, he saw two figures appear in the hall.

But he only had eyes for one.

The forcefield fell, just long enough for a hand to shove his brother inside before the glowing bars reappeared.

One scrambled off the cot, but he didn’t get the chance to take a single step before he was swept into a tight hug, bony arms pressed against his ribs and spine, squeezing him against the familiar body so hard he swore he heard his bones creak.

“BROTHER YOU’RE HERE YOU’RE STILL HERE AND YOU’RE OKAY HE WOULDN’T TELL ME HOW YOU WERE AND I MISSED YOU AND I’M SORRY I’M SO SORRY I WANTED TO SEE YOU BUT HE WOULDN’T LET ME AND I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I DIDN’T MEAN TO LEAVE YOU ALONE!”

It took all of One’s self-control not to sob.

There. _There._ Everything he had missed for the past four cycles. Everything he had yearned for, everything he had begun to wonder if he would ever feel again.

His brother’s arms holding him, their SOULs pressed close, the loud, clear voice that never failed to soothe him.

And the strong orange glow, growing brighter by the second, surrounding him, cradling him in comfort.

Tears slipped down from his eyesockets as he brought his arms up and squeezed his brother back.

“s’not your fault, bro,” he murmured, his voice cracking and weak. “s’okay, s’okay, we’re both here now, yeah? we’re okay, youre here, im here, im … god, i missed you, too …”

He didn’t know how long they stood there, just holding each other, the blue glow of his one good eye far outshone by the orange lighting up the whole room. All the tension built up in his bones began to slip away, until he was almost too limp to stay on his feet. He barely noticed his brother guiding them to the bench, or settling them against the wall. But when he opened his eyes, he found them in the corner of the cell, his brother leaning on the wall while One rested in his lap, head nestled against his chest.

The tears hadn’t left his brother’s still-glowing sockets.

One snuggled closer, letting out a sigh that felt like it had been stored inside him for the last four days.

“get some sleep, bro.” He let his sockets close, let the glow soothe him, relax him, even though he couldn’t remember ever being truly “relaxed.” “we’re okay now. we’re okay.”

They weren’t okay. They were never okay. They were never going to get out of here and they would never be okay and there would just be more pain forever and ever until—

But he forced his body to go limp, and a few minutes later, he heard his brother’s soft snores behind him.

The glowing didn’t stop, and One couldn’t help but be grateful. Even the snores were welcome. Everything had been so quiet, too quiet, so much that he almost would have welcome the shrieking of the drill if it would have just _broken the silence._ But the glowing … he hadn’t realized how much he depended on it until it was gone. How little his own glow did for him. How much he needed his brother to soothe him, just like he needed him to hold him, to comfort him, to insist that everything would be alright even though it never, _never_ was.

He needed him. He couldn’t survive without him.

But his brother … what did One do for him?

Make sarcastic comments? Heal a few cracks here and there? Fill the silence?

Dangle in the air surrounded by bones as an incentive to kill?

Stand helplessly in a cage he couldn’t so much as _touch_ without turning himself to dust, while his brother’s SOUL glowed blue and his body flew left and—

One whimpered before he could swallow the sound. His brother stiffened. One froze. But a second later, the snores resumed, and his brother’s arms tightened around him in sleep. One let out a long, shaking breath.

He lifted his head and stared the ceiling.

There were people out there. Other people. People who had no idea they were down there—or maybe they did, for all he knew. Maybe they knew, maybe they knew and just didn’t care. Maybe they wanted this. Maybe they thought whatever purpose He kept talking about was worth two little skeletons suffering.

If someone got down here, if someone found them, would they even care?

He came so close to brushing the thought aside, closing his eyes, and going to sleep. Sleep was escape. Sleep was the one time when he could pretend everything was alright. Sleep was … passing the time until the next bout of pain.

But his brother had been gone so long, and all One could hear was his words echoing in his head.

His warmth. His hope.

His screams. The cracks of his bones as he smashed into the wall over and over.

His weak, pained cries for someone who was never, ever going to change.

“please,” One murmured, under his breath, quiet enough so his brother wouldn’t hear. “you never listened before. but please. just …”

He choked back a sob and leaned closer to his brother’s chest.

“… just keep him safe … dont let him hurt him anymore … ill do anything … please …”

He waited. One second, two seconds, letting the hope his brother clung to fill him for just a moment, one glorious moment as he made himself believe that someone would answer.

But nobody came.

Just like they never had before.

Tears slipped down his cheekbones, his breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t let himself sob. He wouldn’t wake his brother for something stupid like this.

So One closed his eyes just as he had dozens of times, settling into the body of his one comfort in this godforsaken place. He soaked up the orange glow and lit his own left eye up with blue, in the vain hope that it would help his brother sleep a little more peacefully.

After all, in a few hours, He would come back. He would take one of them or both of them and make them hurt. Over and over and over. Like He always had.

And nobody would ever come.

One squeezed his brother and drifted into a restless sleep.

* 

He had meant to keep them separated for a week.

A week at _minimum._ That was what he had decided. Separation had proven a sufficient motivator in the past to get them to behave. And with how difficult 1-S was being, with how much of a challenge it had been lately to just get 2-P to _shut up_ and stop _crying_ —

One week should have done it.

But it had only been four days.

Four days of crying. Four days of screaming and begging. Four days of even more difficulty than usual getting them strapped in for experiments, because they wouldn’t stop squirming, wouldn’t stop calling for their brother, wouldn’t stop pleading to let them be together again.

Four days of 2-P’s gradually lessening cooperation. Four days of 1-S’s intellectual prowess slipping, those “emotional problems” he had predicted long ago growing exponentially with every day that passed.

So he had reunited them.

It meant nothing. It simply served his purpose. The hypothesis of long-term separation as a motivator had proved incorrect, and he had simply switched to a more efficient means of keeping them useful.

That was all.

He heard their cries every day. He expected them. He _caused_ them. And that had been the purpose, hadn’t it? If they associated disobedience with suffering, they wouldn’t disobey him. That was why he did it. That was why he had given them their _lesson_ with blue magic.

And certainly, they would never use blue magic against him now.

But he had hoped that enough time had passed for him to use blue magic without them bursting into another episode.

That was what he had been doing: using it in short spurts to get them used to it again. He couldn’t keep touching them. He didn’t _want_ to keep touching them. And blue magic was the only way to avoid it. They were supposed to associate their _own_ use of blue magic with pain, with fear, with something to avoid. He had known there would be temporary panic associated with his own use for it, he had _seen_ them panic when he used it on them, but how long did he have to wait before they stopped dissolving into tears and screams every time he picked them up?

He hadn’t planned to use it that day. But after so long of doing it, he had to consciously remind himself to use his magic hands or even his real ones to grab them, and he had barely slept three hours the night before and his head wouldn’t stop pounding and he could hardly _think,_ and before he could stop himself, before he could speak to them, he had grabbed 2-P’s SOUL and tugged him forward, just a little faster than normal, and they both started _screaming_ and—

He picked up his pace, only pausing when he reached the wall. He put his hand to the keypad—just like the keypad beside their cell—and slipped through the open door, trudging out the other side and continuing through the lab. His pace didn’t slow as he dug around in his coat for a pack of cigarettes, slipping one between his teeth and flicking the lighter several times before a flame finally appeared.

Gaster breathed in the smoke and pinched the spot just above his nasal passage.

He just needed rest. That was what Asgore was always saying, wasn’t it? He just needed to go home, rest, and come back tomorrow morning ready to get on with the project.

Four days should be enough. They would have associated their failure to comply with separation. Even if they panicked, even if they cried, certainly, this time, they would obey him when he told them it was time to go.

It was their purpose. It was what he had made them for.

The quicker they obeyed, the quicker he could do his experiments. And the quicker he finished his experiments, the sooner he would get them all out of here.

And then—

And then …

Well. He would figure that out when the time came.

He strode through the hallways of the underground lab, toward the elevator, trying to remember whether he even had any food in his house to have some semblance of a late dinner.

He did not look back to see the sliding door still open behind him, the keypad glowing in silent anticipation for a simple touch of the hand that would not come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to [this comic](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/155697360356/previous-another-day-down-surely-you-can-keep), Gaster slowly began using blue magic on them again after the incident, but they were still having panic attacks whenever he did, hence why both they and he tried to avoid it. I figure, though, that being moved quickly with blue magic would more likely trigger the boys than just being grabbed, and with Gaster being so tired as to make stupid mistakes … well.


	49. Day 5328: Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to believe that this is the second-to-last chapter ... thank you so, so much to everyone who has supported me all this way. :)

“SANS!”

“what?”

“YOU FORGOT YOUR SHOES AGAIN!”

“oh. whoops.”

“YOU’LL GET YOUR FEET ALL DIRTY AND TRACK DIRT BACK INTO THE HOUSE.”

“guess youll just have to carry me then, bro.”

“AUGH! YOU ARE SO LAZY SOMETIMES, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH YOU.”

“s’easy. you just pick me up and carry me around like you always do.”

Papyrus grumbled, but when Toriel glanced behind her, it was to find Sans carefully settled into his brother’s hold, while Papyrus jogged through the courtyard to catch up with her.

She smiled a little wider. But then again, it didn’t feel like she had stopped smiling in a very long time.

Toriel had stopped paying such close to attention to the years that passed. She noticed dates, of course. Gyftmas, the boys’ birthday, her own birthday—not that they would ever let her forget it. The day Chara had appeared. The day Chara had died, and Asriel had followed them.

And, of course, she remembered the days each of the other humans had arrived.

Six humans had fallen into the Ruins. Five of them had stayed with her. Become like her children.

All of them had passed through the door and out into the Underground, never to return.

She had cried for every one of them, and when the dates came to pass and she told their stories, Sans and Papyrus always cried with her.

But there were far more smiles than tears.

There were the forced smiles when Papyrus made another “experimental” dish, and the genuine ones when he succeeded. There were the laughing smiles when one of the boys started a tickle fight that ended with all three of them in a pile on the floor. There were the delighted smiles when they opened gifts from one another, for birthdays, for Gyftmas, for no reason at all.

The smiles when Sans found a new textbook lying around the Ruins. The smiles when Papyrus built a particularly challenging puzzle. The smiles when Toriel made them new robes because they had grown out of the old ones. The smiles when Sans started doing the voices for _Fluffy Bunny_ alongside Toriel. The smiles when Sans made a particularly good pun, and Toriel played off it, and Papyrus groaned loud enough for all the Ruins to hear. The smiles when Papyrus woke up in the morning in an especially good mood and gave them both tight hugs, grinning wide enough to split his skull as he told them that they were the best mom and brother he could ever ask for, and he loved them so, so much.

Nothing was perfect, of course. There were some secrets to their past that she would never know. Even they didn’t seem to know, drawing a blank whenever she tried to discuss how she had found them or what their lives had been like before.

Or the strange metal plates on the backs of their hands.

And there were challenges. Sans had bouts of depression from time to time, just waking up some days and not wanting to get out of bed. She had tried again and again to figure out what caused them, to find some solution that would make the episodes easier for him, but nothing worked. She suspected it had something to do with his partial blindness, the fact that only one of his eyes could glow properly, but the one time she asked him about it, all he said was that he was too lazy to glow both of them, and Papyrus could glow enough for two.

Which he did, frequently, often even if Sans didn’t need it. They may have finally accepted a second bed in their room, but it was hardly unusual for her to poke her head past their door and find them curled up together, Papyrus’s orange glow lighting up the room while Sans snuggled against his chest.

If there was one thing that could help Sans out of his depression faster than anything Toriel had been able to think up, it was his brother.

But of course, pancakes shaped like skulls and smothered in syrup certainly didn’t hurt either.

They had bad times. But they worked through them, together. They grew. They changed. They got better. No matter what happened, things always got better.

She couldn’t pinpoint the day she had realized her boys were all grown-up. They would always be children to her, and it wasn’t like she couldn’t still pick them up and carry them around if she wished. At this point, she doubted Papyrus would ever stop carrying Sans whenever Sans felt too lazy to move, just as she doubted Sans would ever stop falling asleep, a content smile on his face, whenever his brother picked him up.

They were still her children. Her sons. And they always would be.

And just like they had for so many years now, they followed her out through the Ruins, toward the bed of yellow flowers and Chara’s grave.

Papyrus had made a point to come more and more as time went by, and though Sans grumbled about the walk, he never complained if Papyrus gave him a ride. And on those rare days when she cried, he was always right there at her side, one eye glowing blue while Papyrus shone orange nearby.

Today, Papyrus spent the walk chattering on about new puzzle ideas and what to make for dinner. Toriel commented, and Sans made an occasional pun when he wasn’t napping. It was normal. It was comfortable. It was perfect.

But just as they reached the bottom of one of the main staircases, close to the edge of the Ruins, Papyrus stopped.

Toriel turned to face him, and found his usual smile gone, replaced by a slight furrow of his browbone, his body tense. His eyes locked ahead of them, toward the little archway leading to the last room before the flowerbed.

She took a step toward him, ready to lay a hand on his arm. “What is it, Papyrus?”

“DID YOU HEAR THAT?” he asked, still staring ahead.

Sans lifted his head, sockets half-closed, though a bit more awake at the distress in Papyrus’s voice. “hear what, bro?”

Papyrus took a step forward.

“I HEARD A SOUND. LIKE … SOMEONE TALKING? I’VE NEVER HEARD THE VOICE BEFORE …”

He stepped forward again. Toriel opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off before she could get out a word.

“IT WAS COMING FROM THE FLOWERBED,” he said, hoisting Sans more securely into his arms as he started forward. “COME ON, BROTHER, LET’S SEE WHAT IT IS!”

“sure thing,” Sans murmured around a yawn, only settling further into his brother’s hold as Papyrus jogged ahead, around the corner, toward the flowers.

Toriel had barely begun to pick up her own pace when she heard a loud gasp, followed by a squeak of something like pain.

“HEY! THAT ISN’T A VERY NICE THING TO DO! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO SUCH A SMALL CREATURE? EVEN IF YOU ARE VERY SMALL YOURSELF! I THINK YOU SHOULD—OH, HE’S GONE.”

Toriel’s SOUL pounded, and she broke into a near-run, turning the corner Papyrus had passed, ready to charge an attack at whatever was threatening her boys.

Then she stopped.

Papyrus and Sans—now on his own feet again—stood just in front of a patch of grass. There was no sign of an attacker, no sign of whatever had made that squeak.

There was … a child.

A child with light brown skin and dark hair and a blue and pink striped sweater, on their knees, staring up at Sans and Papyrus with wide, baffled eyes.

A _human_ child.

Papyrus lifted a hand in a wave and aimed his famous wide grin down at his newest acquaintance.

“HELLO, SMALL CREATURE! I’VE NEVER SEEN YOU HERE BEFORE!”

“Oh, goodness …” Toriel breathed. And in a second, every instinct she had developed through each fallen child, every instinct that had grown rusty over years of disuse, flared to life, and she strode forward, slipping past her sons to bend down in front of the small, baffled human. “Hello, my child. Are you hurt? There now, stay still, I will heal you.”

The child didn’t fight her, merely watched as her hands began to glow and moved over them. The cracks in their SOUL, the cuts and bruises on their body, vanished quickly, easily, and something tight within her loosened as the child worked with her rather than against her to heal themself.

At last, she retracted her hands with a satisfied nod.

“There we are. I’m sorry, this must all be very strange to you, and it doesn’t look like you got a very warm welcome.” She pushed herself to her feet, holding out a hand to help them to stand as well. “I am Toriel, guardian of the Ruins, and this is Sans and Papyrus.”

She glanced over her shoulder to find Papyrus and Sans both staring at the child in front of her. She nodded to beckon them forward.

“Sans, Papyrus … it looks like we have a guest. A young human.”

Papyrus blinked before his whole face lit up in a glistening, beaming grin. “A HUMAN? REALLY?! WOWIE!”

Sans tilted his head, hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side in clear interest. “so thats a human …”

“HELLO, TINY HUMAN!” Papyrus said, stepping forward and offering his hand. As soon as they lifted their own, he snatched it up and shook it so enthusiastically she feared he might break their arm. “MY NAME IS PAPYRUS AND THIS IS MY BROTHER SANS! DO NOT WORRY, WE WILL TAKE EXCELLENT CARE OF YOU! COME WITH US, OUR HOUSE IS THIS WAY! YOU’LL LOVE IT!”

He turned around, tugging them along with him, and only after a few steps did he let go and allow them to walk on their own again. They stumbled, but kept going. Sans and Toriel shared a brief, amused look, before they followed Papyrus and their new guest.

Papyrus didn’t seem to notice he was leading the group alone, throwing his arms out to the sides in exuberant glee.

“OH, SANS, ISN’T THIS WONDERFUL? WE GET TO BE BIG BROTHERS! I CAN SHOW THEM ALL OF MY PUZZLES AND YOU CAN … WELL …”

Sans’s grin spread wider across his skull as he moved ahead to walk at the child’s side. “hey, kid, what did the skeleton say when another skeleton told a lie?”

Papyrus turned back, his shoulders falling in dismay. “SANS, NO—”

“you cant fool me, i can see right thru you.”

“UGH!” Papyrus put both hands to his head, shaking it back and forth. “I APOLOGIZE FOR MY BROTHER, HUMAN! HE CAN BE QUITE ANNOYING SOMETIMES!”

Sans was still grinning, and a second later, the child smiled back, a tiny giggle escaping their throat.

As they walked, as Papyrus ranted on about life in the Ruins and all the cool things he could show them, they glanced over their shoulder at Toriel. She smiled down at them, gently, as gently as she had smiled at the first six.

As gently as she smiled at her two precious sons. Who had stayed. Who would always be at her side, no matter what.

Who would make sure that neither her nor this new child were ever alone.

The child smiled back.

Then they scampered forward to walk alongside Papyrus, holding his hand as they climbed the stairs and giggled at Sans’s next pun.

Toriel watched the three of them go, her eyes soft and her SOUL warm.

And she followed them back toward Home.


	50. Day 5330: Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. After almost six months, _Butterscotch and Bones_ is coming to a close.
> 
> I … had absolutely no idea that this story would have anything resembling the following it now does when I started writing it. I just wanted to write some Momplates since there wasn’t much out there. At first, I thought I’d do a bunch of teeny tiny chapters of several hundred words, tops. Then I thought I’d just do a lengthy oneshot. Then I somehow ended up with this big old thing, and 1877 kudos, and 205 bookmarks, and 2373 comments and 24689 hits and some of the most supportive, wonderful people I’ve met in more than eleven years of writing fanfics.
> 
> I’ve made new friends through this fic. I’ve received heartfelt comments from people who said this story resonated with their personal lives. I’ve gotten _fanart_. I did my first digital drawing, as well as my first recording with a professional microphone (which I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise), and made my first ask blog. I got ideas for every other Undertale fic currently on my profile. This little fic I threw together back in January has turned into something that’s genuinely impacted the rest of my life.
> 
> And you guys are to thank for it. You’re seriously incredible, and I can’t thank you enough.
> 
> Also, I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it one more time: this story, obviously, would not exist if not for the incredible [Zarla](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/). If not for her amazing work (both Handplates and the momplates spinoff), I wouldn’t have even started writing Undertale fanfic, and now I’ve got a trilogy underway. So please go show the unbelievably talented original creator some support.
> 
> In case anyone’s wondering: did Sans and Papyrus accompany Frisk through the Underground? Maybe. ;) I’m going by the theory that the boys convinced Toriel to leave the Ruins and the three of them accompanied Frisk through the Underground. I also still may do bonus chapters, but they would be posted as I write them, not on any particular schedule. If you want more Butterscotch content, though, I update [the Butterscotch Family ask blog](https://ask-butterscotchfamily.tumblr.com/) regularly. :)
> 
> Now, without further ado, I hope you all enjoy the final installment of _Butterscotch and Bones_.

Mom told him that there were too many stars to count, that it would take him days, weeks, months, even if he could see them all. But he was going to do it anyway.

After all, he was the Great Papyrus. He could do anything.

Sans just smiled, wider than he had smiled in a long time, and told him to go for it.

A moment later, Mom laughed and said that when he finished, she would bake a pie to celebrate.

And she had already said she was going to bake a pie to celebrate making it to the Surface, so there was going to be an awful lot of pie to go around soon.

Of course, they would need a kitchen before she could even bake one pie, and for that they would presumably need a house. And Mom said it would likely take time before they had a nice place to live. In less than two days, Mom and Asgore—and Frisk, of course—had already gone down to the closest village to begin “introductions and diplomatic meetings.” Papyrus had wanted to come with them, but Mom insisted it was best with just the three of them. So he stayed with his brother.

Not that that was a bad thing. He hadn’t seen Sans quite this happy since … well. Ever.

Their campsite was quiet, and a little boring, but he couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Papyrus was a little disappointed to still be camping out on the mountain when they could be marching through the streets, meeting dozens of new human friends, but Sans didn’t seem to mind. He spent far more time up and about, exploring the woods and the caves, and even chatting about science-y stuff with Dr. Alphys.

Dr. Alphys was nice. She stuttered a lot, but once you got her going about her work—or something called “anime,” apparently—she could ramble on for ten minutes at a time. She and Sans went back and forth on all sorts of topics, none of which Papyrus knew much about, but the sort of thing Sans had been reading for years in his textbooks but had never been able to really talk about with anyone.

It made Papyrus a little sad to think that he couldn’t do that for his brother. But it made him even happier to see Sans having such a good time.

And besides, Sans wasn’t the only one with a new friend!

Undyne had been a little scary at first, throwing around her spear and shouting a lot. Papyrus had never met someone who shouted as much as he did. But after she stopped her angry yelling, she was really very nice, even if she did like to noogie him every chance she got.

She had even promised to give him warrior training! He wasn’t sure what he would use it for, but Sans had had a lot of fun training with Mom all those years ago, so Papyrus was already looking forward to it.

Not to mention, there seemed to be something going on between her and Dr. Alphys.

He had never gotten to play matchmaker before, but all the romance novels he had read over the years would certainly make him an expert on the subject.

He had lots of friends, he had his family, and he had a whole new world to explore. There were trees and grass and a big open blue sky—though it was a lot more black now—and the town he wouldn’t get to see for a while and the outside of the mountain and the Sun, and Frisk had said the Surface was huge, that he could spend his whole life exploring it and still not see it all!

Well, he had never backed down from a challenge. If there was a whole world out there full of wonderful things, then he was going to see everything he possibly could!

But his absolute favorite part, without a doubt, would always be the sunset.

He had seen two now, and even though Frisk said that they were normal around here, that they were the same almost every day, Papyrus didn’t think they would ever look any less amazing. And they were even better when Sans tried to explain where exactly the Sun was going when it disappeared, how it wasn’t actually moving but _they_ were or something silly like that. Papyrus didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but that was alright. It made Sans happy to talk about it.

And speaking of …

He felt his brother before he saw him, an odd “sixth sense,” as Mom had once called it, that let him know whenever he was near. On top of that, he knew those footsteps, light, quiet and slow, even if they were on half-dead grass now instead of the dirt of the Ruins.

Papyrus turned his head to find Sans approaching him, hands in the pockets of his robe, a lazy, yet perfectly content grin on his face.

“hey, bro,” he said, flopping down at Papyrus’s side. “how many are you up to now?”

Papyrus grinned back.

“TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE. BUT I WONDER IF I MAY HAVE COUNTED THAT ONE TWICE.”

Sans tilted his head and shrugged. “hm, maybe. but who’s countin?"

Papyrus frowned. “I AM!”

“well, yeah, but even if you count wrong, you can always do it again,” Sans replied. He settled in further against the grass, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head to better see the sky. “we got all the time in the world up here.”

“YES, I SUPPOSE WE DO,” Papyrus replied, and he found his own soft smile returning. He let a minute pass by in silence, just watching the array of stars above their heads. Then he turned to Sans again. “HAVE YOU SEEN MOM?”

Sans nodded to his right, back toward the campsite. “yeah, she’s over there talking to … asgore, i guess his name was.”

Papyrus’s grin widened.

“YES! KING ASGORE! THOUGH DIDN’T THAT GERSON FELLOW SAY HE WAS ALSO CALLED KING FLUFFYBUNS?”

It looked very much like Sans was trying to hold back a snort. “dont think that’s his real name, but itll sure make for some good jokes.”

If Papyrus went from smiling to frowning many more times, it was going to hurt his skull.

“SANS, MOM SAID IT’S RUDE TO MAKE FUN OF SOMEONE’S NAME.”

“she doesn’t really like asgore much, though,” Sans countered. “dont think she’d mind.”

Papyrus opened his mouth to protest, then closed it with a huff. As much as he deplored rudeness, Sans was probably right.

From the few things Mom had said about him, Papyrus had assumed Asgore would be a lot scarier. He was big, certainly, bigger than anyone Papyrus had ever seen. But when Papyrus walked up and held out his hand to introduce himself, Asgore had just blinked, smiled, and said it was very nice to meet him. Then he asked if he would like to have a cup of tea and chat sometime, and Papyrus had all-too-happily agreed.

Mom had sighed a bit when Papyrus gleefully gave her his news, but she had always told him that no one was better at making friends out of enemies than him. And Asgore was easy, since he didn’t seem to want to be their enemy at all.

Maybe one day Mom would tell him exactly what Asgore had done to make her so mad.

But for now, this was fine. This was wonderful. This was _amazing._ They were on the Surface and the air was so fresh and the sky was so _big_ and tomorrow he’d get to see the Sun again. And he had made so many wonderful friends, even in such a short period of time. Friends who liked him! Friends who talked much more than Froggits or Whimsuns! Friends who he had, as his brother said, “all the time in the world” to get to know.

His brother.

Papyrus tilted his head to the side and found Sans still sitting just to his right, for once not taking advantage of an opportunity to nap. His sockets were wider than Papyrus had ever seen them, his eyelights large and bright, as he stared up at the night sky, taking in the stars he knew so much about from books, but had never actually seen.

Without warning, he pointed up.

“hey, bro, you see that really bright star there?”

Papyrus squinted and tried to follow the path of his brother’s finger. “HM? THAT ONE?”

“yeah,” Sans replied. “that’s achernar. guess how far away it is?”

“HMM … WELL, YOU SAID THE TOWN WAS FIVE MILES AWAY FROM MT. EBOTT, SO MAYBE … TEN MILES?”

Sans’s grin looked more like a smirk. “little further.”

“FIFTEEN?”

“about four hundred and fourteen trillion miles.”

Papyrus’s head jerked to face Sans, browbone furrowed, then up to the star and back again.

“YOU’RE MAKING THAT UP!”

“nope,” Sans said, grinning like an idiot. “s’in one of my astronomy books. cool, huh?”

Papyrus stared a second longer, then looked to the sky one more time, his sockets side.

“WOWIE … FOUR HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN TRILLION MILES …” he breathed, shaking his head as he leaned on his own hands as well. “THE SURFACE IS VERY BIG, SANS.”

“yeah,” Sans muttered, radiating wonder.

“AND I HEARD FROM FRISK THAT THERE ARE NINE BILLION HUMANS UP HERE.”

“yup.”

Papyrus hesitated. He glanced at the campsite, then at his brother, then down the mountain. He could still make out the faint lights of the village, or town, or whatever it was called. The lights that meant people. Lots of people.

He swallowed hard.

“DO YOU THINK … THEY’LL WANT TO BE MY FRIEND?”

He risked another glance at Sans and found him staring at him with wide sockets and an even wider, though slightly incredulous grin.

“you kiddin, bro?” he asked, a laugh in his voice. “theyre gonna be linin up to meet you in a week. you just wait and see.”

Papyrus beamed, and in less than a second, all his uncertainty had vanished, replaced by a warm swell in his SOUL that made him sit up straighter and hold his head high.

“YES, YOU’RE RIGHT, SANS.” He reached out and gave his brother’s shoulder a soft pat. “BUT I’M SURE THEY’LL LINE UP TO MEET YOU AS WELL.”

Sans chuckled and shrugged. “nah, im good. got everything i need right here.”

His sockets and smile had gone soft, and Papyrus felt his own expression smooth out to match. He glanced away, a faint blush on his cheekbones, before clearing his throat and pointing up again.

“WHAT ABOUT THAT STAR OVER THERE? THE OTHER REALLY BRIGHT ONE? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S CALLED?”

In an instant, Sans was staring at the sky once more. “oh, yeah, that’s rigel. it’s further away, about fourteen hundred light years. a light year’s the distance light travels in a year, six trillion miles, so pretty far. it’s actually …”

Papyrus didn’t really listen to what Sans said after that. He didn’t need to. All he needed was to turn his head and see the wide, beaming smile on his brother’s face, the way his eyes lit up brighter than any stars in the sky. The flickers of what Papyrus was sure was green glowing in his left socket.

He didn’t know why he was always so surprised to see it there. His brother got sad from time to time, but Papyrus couldn’t figure out why he found himself feeling like he had once wondered if Sans would ever be happy at all.

Maybe there had been a time like that, even if he couldn’t remember it. But it had never been further away.

He blinked, only to find that Sans had stopped talking, and was staring at him instead of the sky, his smile less wide, his browbone furrowed in concern.

“… bro? everything okay?”

Papyrus pressed his mouth into a tight line, forcing back the tears that were definitely _not_ forming in his eyesockets. Then he threw himself forward and wrapped his brother, his precious, lazybones, absolutely wonderful brother, in the tightest hug he could manage.

Sans grunted in surprise, but a second later his own arms slid around Papyrus’s ribcage and squeezed him back.

“I LOVE YOU, SANS,” Papyrus said, in as close to a whisper as he could manage.

Sans chuckled, and Papyrus felt him nestle his head closer against his shoulder, holding him tighter still. “love you, too, bro.”

Papyrus beamed and rubbed his cheekbone in circles against Sans’s skull. Sans laughed, a soft, beautiful sound, and nuzzled him back.

A minute later, they were still tangled up in their hug on the grass, staring up at the sky, Sans in Papyrus’s lap, head resting on his shoulder while Papyrus wrapped his arms around his brother’s tiny body. He didn’t know why the position felt so familiar. But he supposed it didn’t matter. It was comfortable. That was good enough.

Papyrus was almost considering laying down when he heard the crunch of footsteps just off to their right. Sans lifted his head, then settled it back again.

“hey, mom. kid. how’s it goin?”

Mom stopped a few feet away from them, the little human trailing at her side, looking as bright and satisfied as they had for the past two days. They still looked a little tired, despite it all, but that should be fixed soon. After all, they’d be spending a lot of time with Sans, and his laziness tended to rub off on those who didn’t know how to combat it.

“Well, Frisk and I have been discussing some possibilities for further communication with the village tomorrow,” Mom replied. “They think that if that goes well, we could introduce everyone else here, and after that, we can look into moving more monsters out from the Underground and finding them a place to live here on the Surface.”

Papyrus hummed, his browbone furrowing in slight frustration.

“I STILL THINK I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE TO INITIATE CONTACT WITH THE HUMANS. HOW COULD THEY THINK ANYTHING BAD OF US WHEN THEIR FIRST IMPRESSION IS THE GREAT PAPYRUS?”

Papyrus swore the human was muffling a snicker behind their hand—perhaps laughing at how silly it had been that he hadn’t been the first to be introduced?—but Mom only smiled. “I know you’ll be a wonderful mascot when the time comes, Papyrus. But you remember what Frisk said about the stigma skeletons carry here on the Surface. It might be best to wait a bit.”

“HMPH,” he huffed, though he was far too happy about things in general to get truly upset. “I DON’T SEE WHAT IS SO SCARY ABOUT A SKELETON. WE ARE JUST BONES!”

He paused for a moment, tilting his head in thought.

“OF COURSE, I SUPPOSE IT IS ONLY NATURAL FOR THEM TO BE INTIMIDATED BY SOMEONE AS GREAT AS ME!”

Sans hummed in agreement. The human definitely snickered this time, certainly at the obviousness of his statement, while Mom just chuckled.

“Yes, that’s true,” she replied.

At last, she sat down beside them, Frisk following her to lean against her right side. Papyrus shifted so he could lean against her left, holding Sans against him. Mom wrapped her arms around all of them, tucking them close and secure. Still the safest place Papyrus had ever been, whether it was in the Ruins or the farthest regions of the Underground or here, on the Surface, with an unknown world stretched out before them.

“But I’m sure they’ll love you when they meet you,” she said, peering down at them with the same affection she had always held from his earliest memories. The affection he had no doubt they would see every day for the rest of their lives. “Both of you.”

Papyrus giggled and beamed, settling his head against her shoulder. When he peered over at the human, he found their eyes closed, and when he turned to Sans, he found the same.

It was early for sleep. But his brother had definitely earned a nap without being scolded for his laziness.

Besides, there would be plenty of time for that in the days to come.

The days with his new human sibling, and his new monster friends, and all the human friends he was sure to make soon. His mom and his brother right by his side.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, happy sigh.

Yes. This was just the beginning of a magnificent life.

And the Great Papyrus was going to make the most of it.


	51. Carol of the Bells: Day 5700

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a year ago, I decided to take the plunge and start a Momplates fic - since I was drowning in angsty Handplates stuff and wanted more fluff, and didn’t see many other examples of it. I … never imagined that what was originally meant to be a drabble collection or even just a lengthy one shot would turn into the most popular fic I’ve ever written, and a role-play blog with over 900(!!) followers.
> 
> This chapter (well, fifteen chapters, since it was far too long to put it in just one) is meant to make you feel complicated feelings. And no, it is not meant to establish sympathy for adult Gaster who tortures kids. It doesn’t matter what kind of past you have: torturing kids is still torturing kids. But one of my favorite parts of Zarla’s Gaster is how complex and realistic he is, and his relationship with Toriel is perhaps the most painful to think about - especially in a universe where she learned what he did, even if she forgot about it later. Parts of this not-so-little bonus chapter are inspired by the Handplates comics detailing Gaster’s past (most of which hadn’t been released when I first wrote this fic), and parts by the dialogue and behavior of the Gaster Ghost (which is awesome, you should totally get him if you haven’t already).
> 
> It also deals with the complex issue of Asgore. As the author, my feelings about him are ... well, complex, and I can't take one side entirely. Please keep in mind that much of this story is written from Toriel's point of view, and her opinions are more ... solidified than mine. It also assumes that the monsters were sealed in the mountain about five hundred years ago (as opposed to a couple thousand, as in _It's Raining Right Here_ ), and that their holiday of Gyftmas was inspired by the Pagan tradition of winter solstice (as many modern Christmas traditions were).
> 
> And because I can’t do it too much, thanks again to Zarla for creating such an awesome series with such beautiful artwork, compelling stories and incredible interpretations of the characters. It kept me in this fandom when I was falling out of it, and being here over the past year has really changed my life for the better.
> 
> This little short story contains both Alphyne and aro-ace Papyrus. ;)
> 
> To all my wonderful readers, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Winter Solstice, and Happy December!!

_“Merry Gyftmas, nerds!”_

Toriel had only just registered the sound of the front door slamming open hard enough to shake the walls before the voice echoed around her, so loud that she wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire street heard it.

Undyne stood in the open doorway with her hands on her hips, grinning at the inside of the house like she might look at a field full of enemies she had just knocked down in a single blow. Alphys poked her head around her side, biting her lip. Toriel sighed, set aside her knitting, and pushed herself out of her armchair to greet her guests.

“Undyne, I am always thrilled to have you visit, but could you please open the door more … gently?” she asked, with a glance toward the door, still swinging back and forth with the force of the assault. “I’m not sure my walls can handle much more.”

They weren’t exactly the most durable walls, from what she had seen. Papyrus had already managed to put two holes in them by complete accident. But Undyne just flashed her an even wider grin and waved her off.

“Sure, sure, Toriel. _Now_! Who’s gonna help me decorate?!”

Not a second passed before Toriel heard the thundering of footsteps upstairs, running across the landing before pounding down the stairs. She sighed, and did her best not to think about how weak the steps were, and how she really needed to get them reinforced.

“I AM COMING, UNDYNE!” Papyrus called out, before leaping over the last three steps and landing on the ground with as much flair as he could manage. He grinned at her, then paused, thoughtful. “AND I THINK THE HUMANS CALL THE HOLIDAY ‘CHRISTMAS’!”

“Well, _we’re_ not humans!” Undyne waved him off with a mock scowl. She paused and glanced to the top of the staircase. “Except Frisk. But I don’t think they care about being lumped in with us.”

As expected, Frisk, who had apparently come out of their room to greet them, just smiled and nodded from the top of the stairs. Undyne grinned one more time before walking over to the boxes of decorations sitting in the center of the living room and proceeding to tear into them.

Alphys lingered near the open door as Papyrus and Undyne got to work, watching Undyne with a mixture of concern and admiration. All overlaid with a thick layer of affection, which had never faded regardless of the time that passed.

It hadn’t made much of a difference, when Undyne and Alphys became “official” girlfriends. Papyrus had been whispering about “getting them together” since they left the Underground, and Sans had been making jokes hinting at such for just as long. Frisk had declared themself “Honorary Cupid” the second the Barrier had been broken and declared that Undyne and Alphys would be “smooching it up,” in their words, by the end of the year.

Toriel wasn’t sure exactly when their first kiss had occurred, but she was fairly sure that it had happened before the end of the first week.

It took another two months for them to tell everyone else, and by then, it was common knowledge.

That seemed a world ago now. For most of them, it was hard to remember a time before Undyne and Alphys had been together, just as it was hard to remember a time when the Surface had been a far-off dream. None of them had forgotten the Underground, of course. The ones that lived now never would. But new generations would be born, would grow up here on the Surface, among humans, under the sun, and the centuries of imprisonment would go down in stories, just as the War had before it.

As Papyrus and Undyne ripped apart the boxes to get to the decorations inside, Sans and Frisk made their way down the stairs, Frisk bounding almost as fast as Papyrus while Sans took his time on each step, hands tucked in the pockets of his favorite blue hoodie.

It was as strange as ever, seeing her boys without robes. They still wore them sometimes, on quiet days when none of them had anywhere to go, but moving to the Surface had brought all sorts of changes none of them were expecting, and one of those changes was a newfound variety of clothing options. Papyrus still loved going to the human thrift store and picking out new outfits, some of … quite unique. Sans wasn’t as keen on shopping, but about a month after the Barrier was broken, he had found an old hoodie sitting on a store shelf, bought it with some of the money he had saved up, and pulled it on. He had only taken it off once a week since, when she insisted on putting it in the wash.

There was a stain on the left sleeve and a tear at the bottom hem, and no matter how much Papyrus chided him about it, he still wore it even to formal occasions. But while it had earned him titles like “lazy” and “careless” and occasionally even “disrespectful,” it was a good deal harder to be afraid of a monster wearing an oversized hoodie and a constant grin, even when said monster’s appearance apparently reminded humans of their dead.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs, giving Undyne and Papyrus an appraising look before crossing the room—carefully avoiding both of them—and flopping down in one of the armchairs. It was still closer to the impending chaos that Toriel would have preferred, but Sans could take care of himself, and Papyrus would never allow him to be caught in the crossfire.

Frisk, for their part, came to stand at her side, flashing her a smile before turning to watch Undyne and Papyrus with increasing interest.

“So you guys bought all this stuff?” Undyne asked, tearing open the last of the boxes Toriel had spent quite a bit of time putting together.

Papyrus perked up even more.

“YES! WE WENT SHOPPING YESTERDAY! APPARENTLY EVERYTHING GOES ON SALE RIGHT BEFORE GYFTMAS, OR, UM, CHRISTMAS!”

“Nice!” Undyne said, beaming, as she lifted out a box of glass balls. “This is gonna be _awesome_!”

“YES! I’M SURE IT WILL BE!” Papyrus agreed. He paused, then frowned. “HOW WILL IT BE AWESOME?”

Undyne didn’t even look at him as her smile stretched even wider, into something Toriel had no qualms describing as “alarming.”

“You’ll see, Papyrus. You’ll see.”

Toriel shared a brief, silent look with Frisk, and barely decided against asking them to go find a helmet.

If there was one thing Frisk was good at, it was dodging.

For the moment, they simply picked up some tinsel from one of the boxes and ran to the other side of the room to lay it on a small table by the wall, far away from where Undyne and Papyrus would be working. Toriel turned at the sound of the front door closing at last, and found Alphys giving her a shy smile and wave.

“N-n-nice to see you again, Y-Your M-Majesty,” she said, so quietly Toriel could barely hear her over the commotion.

She smiled, soft and patient.

“Alphys, please, I would love it if you called me Toriel. I haven’t been queen for a very long time.”

Alphys gave a nervous laugh, wringing her hands in front of her. “I-I-I … of course, Y-Your … Toriel. Of c-course, Toriel.”

She said the name carefully, like she were handling a butterfly, and Toriel couldn’t help but smile fondly. She liked Alphys, even if she still didn’t know her very well. She was quiet, and she could be very odd, but she was kind, and though Toriel knew she had done things that would have given anyone nightmares, she couldn’t bring herself to pass the sort of judgment on this young scientist as she would on … certain others.

She pushed the thought away and nodded.

“I do appreciate you both coming over. It is always lovely to see you.”

“Oh, s-sure!” Alphys squeaked, though a bit more easily. “U-Undyne loves to s-see Papyrus, and S-Sans and I always h-have great conversations. A-and it’s g-great to see y-you and Frisk, t-too!”

There was no secret that the six of them tended to split up into pairs when they got together. It wasn’t intentional, but no one tried to stop it when they noticed it occurred. They all spent plenty of time with each other when they were in smaller groups. But Undyne and Papyrus’s enthusiasm tended to feed off of each other’s, and Alphys and Sans could bounce ideas off of each other as easily as bouncing on a trampoline, and Toriel and Frisk, well, they were happy in the middle.

As expected, Alphys ducked around the chaos with practiced precision and came to sit on the part of the couch closest to Sans, jumping into conversation even more comfortably than she did with Undyne. Toriel was sure that no one else looking would have noticed, but having known Sans as long as she had, she could see the way his permanent smile softened and widened, just a bit, into something like contentment. Alphys did most of the talking, as she usually did when she got going, but Sans didn’t hesitate to cut in with a thought of his own if it struck him.

Toriel couldn’t understand two words of what they were saying. She rarely could. That had bothered her once, but not any more. She enjoyed science, but she had a wide variety of interests, and Sans and Alphys had spent years becoming experts in their respective fields. They had earned the right to a few over-her-head conversations.

Even without understanding them, she was so caught up in watching their comfortable exchange that she didn’t notice the ornament flying across the room until it shattered against the wall.

She blinked, turning to face it before looking in the direction it had come from.

Or, more precisely, toward Undyne, who grinned at the wall with an odd sort of glee while Papyrus fidgeted at her side.

“UM, U-UNDYNE, I DON’T THINK WE’RE SUPPOSED TO THROW THE ORNAMENTS.”

Undyne turned to him, blinking and frowning. “Then how the heck are they supposed to get on the tree?!”

“BY … HANGING THEM THERE, I THINK?” Papyrus suggested, glancing at the small tree in the corner which, at the moment, only had about four ornaments hung.

“Well, that’s _boring_!” Undyne all but spat. She punched one fist into her opposite palm. “I’m gonna do it the _awesome_ way! Are you gonna join me or are you just gonna decorate the _boring_ way?!”

Papyrus stared for a moment, then held himself tall and proud, more so than he had in all his years in the Ruins.

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS DOES EVERYTHING THE AWESOME WAY!”

Undyne beamed and dug her hands into the closest box, pulling out several completely unrelated decorations.

“That’s the spirit!”

And without a second’s hesitation, she began hurling every one of them toward the tree like she was playing a game of darts, Papyrus following suit.

Toriel winced as one of the stocking hangers slammed into the wall, leaving a notable crack in its wake. That … was going to be difficult to repair. And given how many repairs she already had to make, she doubted she would be able to get it to it for at least a month. If she was lucky.

The house was new, but it had been built in a hurry, and it was already clear that it was going to need a good number of improvements before it was ready to stand over the long-term. Especially if it were to have regular visits by Undyne—Papyrus, bless his enthusiasm, had a good sense of when to be gentle, but Undyne … had never quite developed that. Which was one of the reasons Toriel was glad she didn’t spend too much time around Sans. Papyrus could control his strength with an almost frightening precision, to be sure that he never hurt his brother, no matter how excited he got. Undyne had no such restraints.

She was careful, though, and Toriel trusted her. Besides, Sans had gotten quite skilled at stepping out of the way when she was in a particularly energetic mood.

The decorations, of course, didn’t have Sans’s instincts or dodging skills, and Toriel couldn’t quite suppress a wince as she heard another of the glass balls shatter on the floor. She had expected this, of course, which was why she had brought extra. If she had wanted to decorate without breaking anything, she would have done it on her own.

But this was their first Gyftmas on the Surface. Their first Gyftmas with their new family. And she was determined that they would do it properly, no matter how many decorations had to break in the process.

She sent out a small wave of magic to sweep away the broken glass on the floor, depositing it on the coffee table to be cleaned up later, before she turned to Frisk and smiled.

“Would you like to help me make some hot chocolate for them, my child?” she asked.

Frisk looked up at her and smiled back, as sweetly and easily as ever.

“Sure, Mom.”

It sounded so natural coming from their lips, as if they had been saying it their whole life. As if they had always been with her, always loved her, always looked at her with that gentle affection she had gotten used to far too fast.

Her own smile softened, and she nodded, taking their small hand in her own and leading them away from the decorating rampage and into the kitchen.

Yes. One year after they found freedom, despite all the struggles on the way, everything was going quite well indeed.


	52. Carol of the Bells: Day -190,895

Very few monsters had been keeping track of the dates during the War. There were far more important things: fighting, healing, searching for friends and family. Survival. But there were always a few who remembered such things.

It was thanks to those few that Toriel even knew when the day of winter solstice arrived.

There was no sun—or lack thereof—to tell her. No change in the weather, no clouds or snow or stars. There was only the artificial light they created themselves, and the tiny bit of sunlight that leaked through the hole in the mountain from above.

Hardly anyone went near the hole, though, no matter how tempting the light might have been. There was too much fear that a human would see them, and decide that locking them away wasn’t enough. Instead, they huddled in the darkness, nursing the wounded and trying to think of some way, _any_ way, that they could survive this. That they could ever regain any semblance of the life they had had before.

Nothing was ever going to be the same. And they all knew it.

Like in many areas of her life, Toriel busied herself with helping. She healed people where she could. She consoled those who had lost friends and family. She worked with Asgore to establish a sort of structure, something that would help the people from floundering, lost and scared in this new world.

And through it all, she carried the lost skeleton child with her.

She wasn’t sure when she had decided, in her own head, that she was responsible for him. It hadn’t really been a decision. She had found him, shivering underneath that coat, and after assuring him that she wasn’t going to hurt him, she had picked him up and carried him with her as the monsters were ushered, unceremoniously and with no time wasted, inside the mountain that was to be their prison.

If it was already winter solstice now, then it had been more than fifteen days since they had been trapped down here.

And despite her numerous prompts and questions, the child had yet to say a single word.

He clung to the coat like a blanket, and after the first day, he clung to her just as fervently. He stayed with her as she went around helping other monsters. He ate with her, and slept next to her. After the shock had faded, Asgore had called for monsters willing to begin constructing shelters, in an effort to make this place a little more hospitable while they tried to figure out what to do.

Even if “what to do” turned out to be making more permanent shelters.

Toriel helped in that, too, where she could. It was hard work, nothing like anything she had done before, and resources were scarce. But her people had always been resourceful, and some of the elders offered advice as to what materials would make for the best houses. Within two days, all of the able-bodied monsters were working to make some semblance of a home in a dark, empty cave that felt more inhospitable than any winter they had weathered before.

Winter solstice had been one of her favorite times of the year before. Recognizing the shortest day of the year and celebrating the coming of spring. When this winter solstice came, she spent the day helping to construct houses, a skeleton child tucked against her side. When she was almost finished, she overheard two monsters talking, and only when she asked did they admit to her what day it was.

A small part of her thought of trying to organize some sort of celebration. But it was late, and everyone was tired.

Next year. Next year, whether they were here or somewhere else, they would celebrate the day as it should be celebrated.

Somehow.

Ten days after the unmarked holiday, the first structures were completed, and though Asgore and Toriel tried again and again to insist that they be the last to receive shelter, all the monsters had agreed that one of the first homes should go to them. They made sure that the elderly, the wounded, and those with young children were given homes, and finally, reluctantly, accepted.

Toriel doubted they would have done so if not for the child she was caring for herself.

Asgore went to help the others move in, and Toriel took the skeleton child and made her way toward the shelter they had been gifted.

It was the largest, not that that surprised her. She considered protesting, but more than anything, she just wanted to get this child to a place he could call “home.” Somewhere he could begin to heal from wounds she could not even imagine. She stepped inside, looking around at the slightly crooked, but sturdy walls, and already imagining how she might decorate them. Where they might put more rooms in the future. A kitchen, a living room, a fireplace.

A bedroom for the boy in her arms.

She nodded to herself, let out a long breath, and shifted the child, offering him a smile before she began to lower him to the ground.

“There we go,” she said with a soft breath, setting him down very gently and only letting go once she was sure that his legs would hold him up. His scarf settled so it covered part of his mouth, his sweater hanging loose around his thin bones. She knelt down in front of him, giving him the best smile she could, though it still came out sad. “This is where we’re going to be staying for now. Does that sound alright?”

It was a silly question. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else they could go. But this child had lost so much autonomy in his life, and it felt wrong not to at least ask.

He said nothing. He just stared up at her, his good eye wide, blank, and entirely lost.

Toriel chewed the inside of her lip.

“You never told me your name,” she said, doing her best to smile. “I believe you know mine by now. Toriel. Can you tell me yours?”

The child just stared. She had heard of trauma causing temporary muteness. She had seen it many times, the most talkative monsters reduced to utter silence, unable to process the shock of what had happened. But she didn’t even know his _name._ How was she supposed to do any good if she couldn’t even learn something as simple as that?

She was about to turn away and busy herself with something else, ready to try again tomorrow, when his teeth parted. She looked at him again, and he paused, silent for a few seconds before he swallowed, taking a deep breath through his nasal cavity. Then he opened his mouth again.

And gibberish came out.

At first, she thought she had simply misheard, or perhaps he was having trouble speaking through his emotions. He had been silent for almost a month, after all, speaking must be difficult. But then he repeated the sound, and it sounded exactly the same, and she understood just as little of it.

They stared at each other for a few moments. Then he lifted his trembling hands and began to form letters, clumsy and uncertain, as if he barely remembered how.

G-A-S-T-E-R.

Gaster.

It took her an embarrassingly long few seconds to remember.

He was a skeleton. Skeletons spoke in fonts. And not all fonts were comprehensible to other monsters. What were they called? “Dingbat” fonts, wasn’t it? Something like that. Only skeletons could speak them, and only other skeletons could understand them.

She had met a few skeletons who spoke in dingbats before. They usually used sign language to communicate with non-skeletons, and were just as fluent in sign as they were in spoken language. This child—Gaster—apparently knew the alphabet, at the very least. But if he didn’t know the rest …

Before her thoughts could descend any further, she gave him a smile and nodded.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gaster,” she said, even though it sounded silly.

He nodded back, a small, hesitant motion, but at least it was a response.

She tried to think of something else to ask him, something to gauge his language abilities, to make sure that she _would_ be able to communicate with him when it became truly necessary. But every question, every little thing she might have asked a child in any other situation, seemed so ridiculous now. So … disrespectful. He had witnessed the murder of his entire race. Nothing that would have been important to a child his age seemed relevant now.

But the fact remained that he was a child. A child with tremendous trauma, a child who had seen things no adult should ever have seen.

A child who, based on what she had seen from recovery efforts, had no one left who even knew his name.

He had no one. No family, and apparently no friends. Just her. And Asgore, of course, but he was busy with the duties of being a king, trying to build a new society down there and find a way to help everyone heal from a loss none of them could have imagined or predicted.

So Gaster had her.

Toriel pressed her lips together and reached out a gentle hand to brush over the top of Gaster’s skull. He flinched, then watched her in curious, almost fearful silence. It made her chest ache to see a child react to an affectionate gesture with fear—especially since she had already spent weeks in his company—but she forced herself to smile nonetheless.

He had no one else, but he still had her.

And no matter what it took, even if she had no idea what was going to happen from here, she would make sure that that was enough.


	53. Carol of the Bells: Day 5704

Shopping for Sans, when she couldn’t just sneak out of the house and look around the Ruins or knit something in her spare time, was proving to be quite an ordeal.

In part because he seemed inclined to accompany her on all her trips to shop for others.

And in part because there had never been so much _choice_ before.

She had looked around the Ruins for items that had been dropped when monsters moved out decades before, or she made them something. That was it. The boys had never showed signs of feeling deprived because of this. They had made do with what they had, and they had made it feel like an abundance.

But now there truly _was_ an abundance, by anyone’s standards. And while the boys might not have been children anymore, that didn’t lessen her desire to give them gifts which they would truly enjoy.

It also didn’t lessen the problem that there were _so many_ things that they would enjoy, and that she couldn’t decide which ones they would _really_ enjoy.

She had been looking for gifts since the beginning of November, and had purchased gifts for Papyrus and Frisk—as well as Alphys and Undyne—more than a week before. She still wanted to get them a few supplementary items, but their main gifts were taken care of. Which just left Sans.

Really, though, it would have been so much easier to root through the items in the mall for something he would enjoy if he didn’t insist on coming with her.

But the mall was a novelty for all of them—the human mall, that was, the monster mall was still little more than a shop—and she wasn’t about to deny him a visit when she couldn’t be overt about the reason.

So she did her best to be sneaky. She knew she wouldn’t be able to actually buy a gift when Sans was with her, but she could at least keep an eye out. In the meantime, as they browsed and discussed the best items for their family and friends, she slipped in careful questions about what sorts of things he might enjoy. She was never much good at being subtle, and she was sure he noticed, but he said nothing about it. She found herself wondering whether he had been mining for gift ideas for her already without her even noticing. She wouldn’t have put it past him.

Their conversation wound down after a while when they found a nice little shop selling a variety of things, with shop attendants who didn’t bat an eye at two monsters walking into the shop. It was silence, but it was a comfortable silence.

And silence was rare nowadays. It was nice, even though she would be just as glad for the peaceful chaos of Frisk and Papyrus once they got home.

They paused in front of the same shelf, looking over what appeared to be extremely elaborate snow globes and music boxes. Toriel lifted a few of the music boxes and turned the little handles on the bottom, letting the tunes run and smiling to herself. Music boxes had been rare in the Underground, and there was something about the soft, tinkling noise that reminded her of the many beautiful things this new world could offer. She had one sitting at home—it played _You Are My Sunshine_ —but she could always do with a new one.

“oh, before i forget, i’m gonna meet alphys at the human library later,” Sans cut in, pulling Toriel’s attention back toward him. “she said she found some new free online courses they offer. says i might like em.”

Toriel blinked, then smiled and nodded. “That’s wonderful, Sans. Do let me know what you find, I may be interested myself.”

He smiled a little wider in return. “sure.”

He turned back toward the items on the shelf, scanning each of them in turn, but Toriel kept her eyes on him. She let a few seconds pass in silence before she opened her mouth again.

“I’m glad you two are spending more time together.”

Sans’s head snapped back toward her. He stared for a few seconds, something odd in his gaze, his browbone slightly furrowed. Then he gave her a funny look.

“mom, you know she’s dating undyne, right? and even if she wasn’t, i’m not really looking for …”

“Oh, no, no, not like that,” she cut him off, waving her hands as if to brush off the idea even as she bit back a laugh.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure if she had ever thought about Sans in a romantic relationship. He had never expressed any interest in one, and she wasn’t inclined to push it. Perhaps he would find someone someday, or perhaps not. Either way, he was still her son, and she was happy with whatever made him happy.

Sans was still waiting for an explanation, so she forced a smile and swallowed the rest of the chuckle in her throat.

“I just meant that I’m glad you found someone who shares so many of your interests.”

He raised half of his browbone. “ _you_ share a lot of my interests.”

“Yes, but not to the same extent,” she countered, smiling a bit wider. “You surpassed my knowledge of science years ago. Alphys is … more capable of communicating on your level.”

Sans didn’t respond at first. He looked away again, hunching his shoulders and staring off at something in the distance.

“she’s been looking at jobs. real, long-term jobs. as a scientist, or … something like that.”

Toriel tilted her head. “Is that something you’re interested in?”

“i dunno,” he muttered.

She waited. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and let out a soft sigh, shaking his head.

“i always got a … bad feeling about it,” he went on, a little more clearly. “being a scientist. more than just reading books and doing experiments at home. i always thought … i thought about working in a lab, and it feels … uncomfortable?”

“How so?” she asked.

He shrugged. “i dunno. it’s just a thing.”

Toriel couldn’t help but frown. She had always known that Sans had problems, things that must have happened before she took him in, because she had no memory of them occurring. She got the strong feeling sometimes that he had been through some very bad things, even though she had no idea what they were. Even though he and Papyrus both insisted they could remember nothing. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, to know that her sons had such issues and there was nothing she could do about it.

But she was still here. She was still here to support him.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back toward her.

“You should do whatever makes you feel most comfortable, Sans,” she said, gently, allowing herself a fond smile. “Whatever makes you happy. That could be in science, or something completely different. It’s true that you are very skilled in science, and I think you would do very well should you decide to pursue it. But you have many talents, and many potential careers. It is entirely your choice, and you can take as much time as you need to decide.”

He stared at her, silent, his sockets wide and eyelights bright. She kept smiling, and after a long moment, he smiled back.

“thanks.”

It wasn’t a full solution. They had a long way to go, and she knew there were still problems she would never be able to solve. But they were together, and together, they could figure it out.

They went back to shopping, chatting and joking and making the shop attendants sigh and roll their eyes with their increasingly terrible puns. It just made them laugh more. The weight in Sans’s posture disappeared, and it was easy to see the sharp, eager, if slightly lethargic child who had become her grown son.

Just as they were preparing to head to the check-out counter, Toriel spotted something sitting in the corner, just out of the line of sight. It seemed to stare back at her, even without eyes, and she felt her chest lightening and her mouth curling into a smile.

She made a mental note of the store name and casually asked for their phone number on the way out.

It couldn’t be too hard to find a private moment to call and ask them to hold an item for her.


	54. Carol of the Bells: Day -190,798

Time had never seemed to pass quite so slowly before.

She had found it getting faster and faster as she got older, but now it dragged on, every day—whatever passed as a day without sunlight to mark it—seemed to last an eternity. Every day there was another problem to solve, and it seemed that every solution only lasted for a while. It was taking a very, very long time for everyone to accept that this was permanent, or at least not something they were going to escape any time soon.

This was their life now. The life of every monster who had once roamed the Surface in peace.

Imprisonment underground, for eternity, or however long the Barrier held.

It was only worsened by the fact that they did not yet know exactly how many had been lost in the War—perhaps they would never know, since they couldn’t find the dust or give anyone proper funerals. Toriel had lost track of how many of her friends had been killed. And if she were honest with herself, she had spent far more time searching for any other skeleton monsters, any who had survived, who had hidden. If she could find one, surely she could find more.

She never did.

It was taking her a very long time to accept what she was beginning to realize was a fact: that WingDings Gaster was the last skeleton monster in existence.

Perhaps because, once she accepted it as truth, she would have to find a way to tell him.

Then again, based on the emptiness in his eye every time he looked at her, perhaps he already knew.

He didn’t ask about his family, or his friends. He barely spoke at all. She had been relieved to find that he was fluent in sign language, but fluency did not equal willingness to communicate. He signed when he needed to, but most of the time, he kept quiet, spending his day sitting around the house that she had done her best to make feel like a home. She tried to find games for him to play, stories to tell him, good food to make him—even though food was extremely unvaried, given that it was scavenged from what had been able to grow under the mountain before they arrived. Nothing helped. Perhaps he had simply been a quiet child before—but this went far beyond the norm.

And she doubted any child could work through such traumas on his own.

Time moved slowly, and whether she was looking at the child she had taken in or the people who she loved like her extended family, it seemed sometimes that nothing would ever get better.

But there was some progress, even with all the problems. Their makeshift houses were beginning to look a bit more like proper homes. Several monsters had already gotten to work growing food that didn’t require sunlight, so they wouldn’t have to scavenge daily for more supplies. And with less need to scavenge for food, they could spend more time scavenging for other supplies, lost items that had fallen into the mountain at some point and which the humans had forgotten.

Among those items were books.

Some of them had been too damaged by time or weather or water to be of any use, but others were in at least readable condition. Some were fiction, some were nonfiction, and they covered a wide range of topics, from religious texts to poetry to political rants. It took almost a full month for her to find something along the lines of what she was looking for, and when she did, she ran back to the house so fast that she almost tripped several times over.

She slowed down as she approached, and stepped through the door—a very recent addition to the house, now that they had been upgrading—to find Gaster sitting at the table—another recent addition—writing something on a piece of parchment they had found. He looked up with one wide, vaguely curious eye. She smiled, a good bit wider than she had intended.

“I found something today. Something I think you would enjoy,” she said.

He tilted his head, but didn’t speak—or sign. His eye immediately drifted to the item clutched in her hands. She smiled a little softer, approached him, and held it out.

“A book. It appears to be about the study of different lifeforms. Biology, I believe,” she went on. “Are you interested?”

His eye had locked on the book the second she revealed it, and when she held it out, he snatched it out of her hands so fast she almost didn’t see him move. But rather than open it and tear into it, he just sat there, looking down at it with a sort of reverence that she wouldn’t have understood a few months earlier, but now she felt within herself.

Books hadn’t been exceedingly common before, but they had had a fair amount, and a child with an appetite for knowledge like Gaster did certainly would have been able to find some that interested him.

But books were a rare treasure now, and likely would remain so, until monsters decided to take up writing new ones. Once they discovered all those that had been cast aside already, there was no telling whether they would be able to find more.

She shook herself out of her somber revelations when Gaster looked back up toward her, his good eye far wider than before. He didn’t have eyelights, like some skeletons she had met, but there was a sparkle in that empty socket nonetheless, a light that made her throat tighten and her chest swell. His mouth twitched at the corners, paused, then twitched further, lifting itself into the tiniest semblance of a smile.

It wasn’t a real smile. At least, she didn’t think it was. It wasn’t like she had ever seen what a real smile looked like on his face.

But it was more than she had gotten in months, and it made her feel, just for a second, as if the War, and everything they had lost, had never been further behind her.

She smiled back, brushed a hand over his skull, then started off to the kitchen to leave him to devour the book.

Yes. They could do this.

She would make sure of it.


	55. Carol of the Bells: Day 5705

She could hear the laughter before she even reached the porch.

She paused with her hand on the doorknob and took a minute to just stand there and listen to it. It felt like hearing something sacred, untainted, impossibly pure. It also felt like she was eavesdropping, so she finally pushed away her own reservations, stored the sound away in the back of her head to remember later, and pushed open the door.

There had been no discernible words from the other side, so she didn’t have much idea what to expect. But she couldn’t say she was surprised to see a board game spread out on the living room floor, pillows scattered around it as makeshift cushions while Papyrus and Frisk nudged their pieces from space to space and cheered and laughed like there was nothing else in the world.

She couldn’t tell what game it was. She was fairly sure the pieces didn’t go with that game board, nor could she think of any game they owned where both players moved their pieces at once. But none of her children had ever been particularly “normal,” and besides, wasn’t the point of playing games to have fun?

And they _were_ having fun. Frisk’s pale brown face was tinged red from laughter, and Papyrus’s grin had never stretched wider across his skull.

“I CONCEDE THAT YOU ARE A WORTHY OPPONENT INDEED,” he exclaimed, his voice, even louder than usual, echoing around the living room, bouncing off the ceiling of the second floor. He lifted his arm into the air in triumph. “BUT YOU HAVE NOT BESTED ME YET, AND YOU SHALL NOT SOON! THE GREAT PAPYRUS ALWAYS PREVAILS!”

Frisk jumped to their feet, punching their own fist to match his pose. “But not against the Great _Frisk_!”

Papyrus blinked, but Toriel could see the smile tugging at his mouth.

“DO YOU CLAIM YOUR GREATNESS TO EXCEED MY OWN?”

Frisk smirked and crossed their arms over their chest. “We’ll just have to see who wins, now, won’t we?”

Papyrus smirked in return. “I ACCEPT YOUR CHALLENGE, WORTHY FOE! BUT FIRST I MUST GO UPSTAIRS TO CHECK ON NORBERT.”

“I thought her name was Julia?” Frisk asked.

“I BELIEVE I MAY HAVE BEEN INCORRECT IN ASSESSING HIS GENDER WHEN I PICKED HIM UP FROM THE PET STORE,” Papyrus replied. “THE EMPLOYEES THERE WERE NOT WELL EDUCATED ABOUT FISH IDENTITY! NORBERT SUITS HIM WELL. AND IT IS HIS FEEDING TIME, SO I WILL BE RIGHT BACK!”

With that, he turned and bounded up the stairs like a superhero running off to save a town, his footsteps making the floor tremble. Toriel stood there, smiling, until she heard his bedroom door open and shut, just quiet enough not to count as a slam. She chuckled, and Frisk giggled, turning to her at last.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Having fun?” Toriel asked, smiling wider.

Frisk beamed.

“Yeah! Pap makes up the best games. And we finished the cookie dough!”

Toriel glanced behind the couch, toward the kitchen, and could just make out a pink bowl sitting on the counter, covered by a layer of tin foil. She looked back to Frisk. “Would you be interested in helping me roll it out while Papyrus feeds his fish?”

“Sure.”

Toriel smiled and nodded, and led Frisk into the kitchen. She put away her bags while Frisk uncovered the bowl of finished dough and dug out the rolling pin, cutting board, and the Christmas-themed cookie cutters Toriel had picked up from the store last week. Apparently the modern symbols of the human Christmas were quite similar to the symbols monsters associated with winter solstice, so she hadn’t had to look very far for ones that would work for Gyftmas as well.

It had been a while since she had made roll-out cookies, and the first time she had made them with Frisk. There had never been a proper occasion before. But it seemed appropriately festive, and a good project for the whole family, especially once they mixed the different colors of icing and got to decorating.

Assuming Sans didn’t try to eat the icing straight out of the bowls, but she could always make more if he did.

Within a few minutes, the cutting board—and the counter, and part of the floor, and both of their arms—were covered in a thick layer of flour, and the dough had been rolled out into an even spread. Frisk immediately took a few of the cutters and began dipping them in flour before pressing them into the dough. Toriel let them take control—they were making twice as many reindeer as any other mold, but she didn’t mind—as she began cleaning up some of the mess, wiping down the counter before turning to the sink to wash the dishes sitting inside.

It wasn’t until the first tray of cookies had been set aside for baking that Frisk broke the silence again.

“Mom?”

“Yes?” Toriel asked, smiling at them over her shoulder.

Frisk tilted their head.

“Is Asgore coming over for Gyftmas?”

Toriel almost dropped the plate in her hands.

But she was hundreds of years old, far too mature to go dropping things out of surprise, and besides, it was hardly the most surprising thing she had ever heard. Honestly, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise at all.

She set the plate back in the sink and looked at Frisk. Frisk waited, silent, patient, curious, just as they always were. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

“I … I don’t …”

The words died in her throat.

What was she going to say? No? That sounded harsh, even just imagining it. She had never flat-out said “no” to anything Frisk asked, unless it was factual. If she had discussed it before, if Asgore had confirmed—with or without coercion—that he would not be coming, it would have been easy. But it _hadn’t_ been discussed, and Frisk knew that. This was a request. A quiet, careful one, but a request nonetheless. And she did her very best to reply to requests with either a “yes” or another possibility, an alternative that would be just as enjoyable as the original request but lacking in whatever made the original unacceptable.

But this …

Toriel tried to shake her head, but that didn’t work either.

“I’m not sure if he …” she tried again, only to trail off once more. Frisk’s eyes weren’t hard or demanding. They just watched her, silent, patient, waiting. Toriel swallowed and sighed. “I don’t know yet.”

Frisk said nothing at first, just looked at her, their eyes as unreadable as ever. No anger. No frustration. Not even the irritated pout that would have been understandable, even comforting, coming from a child so young.

Finally, they nodded, unquestioning and simple.

“Okay.”

Then they returned to the dough, rolling the remainder out flat to cut the cookies for a second tray, leaving Toriel shaky on her feet.

They did that, and she still wasn’t used to it. Whereas most children would have pressed for an answer, would have said she was trying to avoid the question—and understandably so—Frisk simply let it go. It concerned her at times, how compliant and accepting they were. It was healthy to push back sometimes, to assert oneself. She had seen it in all of her children at one point or another, and though it wasn’t always easy, it showed that they were developing a sense of autonomy. That they would stand up for themselves when needed. She was glad that they learned it with her, instead of having to learn it out in the world, where the response might not be so pleasant.

But Frisk … they had certainly pushed back at times, particularly in the Underground. They refused to give up on setting monsters free. They refused to give up on sparing any monster who wished to fight them. They kept trying to make friends, to do good, no matter what the circumstance.

But the fact remained that others _had_ attacked them. Certainly, she had spoken to them about making conversation, about avoiding conflict, but she had only been thinking about the monsters in the Ruins, who were really just curious or startled and didn’t mean harm.

The monsters in the Underground … they would have _killed_ them.

Toriel wouldn’t have allowed it, of course. But Frisk hadn’t even seemed upset. Monsters tried to kill them, and Frisk offered friendship and unconditional forgiveness.

They never complained, or seemed upset.

Shouldn’t a child have been upset by something like that? Shouldn’t they have cried, have looked afraid, have gotten the least bit angry? Shouldn’t they have fought back, if only once?

_“I DON’T WANT TO HURT ANYONE, EVEN IF IT’S JUST PRETEND! I’LL JUST WATCH YOU PRACTICE, BROTHER!”_

Toriel stiffened.

When had Papyrus said that? He _had_ said that, she was sure of it, she didn’t know when or where or why but he _had_ but … what would have made him …?

“I’m gonna go finish my game with Pap,” Frisk said, snapping Toriel’s attention back to them, just in time to see them flash her a quick smile before scurrying out of the kitchen, waving as they went. “I’ll make some more cookies later!”

Toriel swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and nodded, even though Frisk wasn’t looking.

“Y-yes, of course.”

Frisk dropped down to the floor of the living room, and less than a minute later, as if on cue, Papyrus came bounding down the stairs, rambling on about Norbert the fish and about the various ways in which he was going to valiantly defeat Frisk in fake, entirely nonviolent combat. The unbaked cookies forgotten, all Toriel could do was stand in the kitchen and watch them in silence.

They were so similar, even if she had never thought of it before. Papyrus might have been bigger and louder, but he was no less kind. No less forgiving. No less loving, so unconditionally it hurt.

No less determined to make sure no one got hurt.

Even when Toriel herself might have thought they deserved it.

She just couldn’t seem to remember who could have hurt Papyrus so much for her to feel such a rush of righteous anger at the thought.

She huffed a breath and shook her head. Really. She might not have been a queen any longer, but she shouldn’t be so helpless as to know so little about her own children.

But they were happy, at least. That much, she was sure of. They smiled and laughed and it was genuine, it was _real,_ and even if she couldn’t figure the rest out, she could at least do what she could to make sure that those smiles and laughs remained.

Frisk might never insist on an answer, but Toriel knew she would have to give one. She couldn’t avoid the question forever, even if Frisk would have allowed her to. If a child, no older than ten, could be patient enough to wait for a reply, then she, a woman with centuries more life experience behind her, could at least muster up the courage to give one.

She just needed to figure out what that reply was going to be.


	56. Carol of the Bells: Day -190,646

Toriel had been sitting in her rocking chair for more than an hour, putting the finishing touches on a new striped sweater, when she heard the footsteps.

Her feet settled on the ground, pausing her motion, and she looked up just in time to see Gaster freeze in the entrance to the sitting room, his good eye wide behind his glasses, his mouth barely open as if caught in the middle of a breath.

“Gaster?” she asked, as gently as she could, though it still sounded unbearably loud in the otherwise silent room.

Gaster swallowed and took a step back, glancing over his shoulder as if to scurry back to his room—not that he would have to scurry very far, given how small their makeshift house was. Toriel gave him her best smile and set her knitting on the table.

“Is everything alright? I thought you were asleep.”

He looked at the ground and began to fidget with his hands. If she listened closely, she could just make out the faint rattling of his bones. It took a minute, but finally he lifted his hands and opened his mouth.

_“I … had a dream.”_

If there was one thing Toriel had learned about Gaster very quickly, it was that he never said “nightmare.” He never used any word that might openly admit that he was weak—regardless of how many times she told him emotional pain wasn’t weak—or that he needed help. He would state a fact, sugar-coated and carefully formed, and he would wait, silently hoping that he would be offered help instead of having to ask for it.

Toriel had to work very hard to keep the smile on her face.

But it took no effort at all to hold out her arms.

“Come here, please.”

It wasn’t an order, but she knew Gaster tended to assume he had to obey her due to her status as queen, so she used the gentlest voice she could. He lingered there a second before straightening up and crossing the room to stand in front of her. She smiled again and beckoned him again. He hesitated longer this time, but finally, slowly, climbed up into her lap, each of his movements careful, as if he might hurt—or worse, offend—her. As soon as he was up, she wrapped her arms around him and tugged him, very gently, to rest against her chest.

He looked up at her with one wide eye. Her smile softened.

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

He turned away. For a second, she feared that she had lost him. She held him a little closer, trying to assure him without words that he was safe, and if he didn’t want to relive whatever horrors he had experienced, he didn’t have to.

But just as she was about to say so out loud, he opened his mouth and lifted his hands.

_“The humans were attacking.”_

Toriel stiffened. She wasn’t surprised, of course. That had been the topic of every nightmare he had admitted to her thus far—and, she suspected, the many he hadn’t. She tightened her arms further and waited as he struggled to continue.

 _“It’s always the same,”_ he murmured, his signs shaky but comprehensible. _“Just like it happened then. They attack. I thought … if it happened so often, I could change it. It isn’t a memory, it’s a dream, I could_ change _it, but every time it’s the same. They come and they attack and I … I let them.”_

He pressed his teeth together in a tight line.

_“I let them kill everyone.”_

Toriel reached down and nudged his jaw to encourage him to meet her eyes. “You did not _let_ anyone do anything, Gaster. None of us could have stopped the humans.”

 _“But I didn’t even try!”_ he cried back, only remembering to sign after the words had left his mouth. As he stared up at her, in the flickering light of the fire, she could just make out tears brimming around the edges of his good eye. He dropped his head and shook it, squeezing his good eye shut. _“I thought … I thought it was the right thing, but I … I thought it was being kind, I thought it was mercy, but they didn’t show_ us _any mercy, I w-watched them, I watched them kill everyone, they didn’t feel bad, they didn’t even hesitate, they just killed them, all of them, I saw it, I saw it all, I heard them screaming there were so many and they were all dust and I tried to fight but it was too late and they were all dead and I hid I hid because I’m a coward I couldn’t protect them I couldn’t save them I couldn’t save anyone why did I survive I’m not supposed to be here not if they’re gone I should have died w-with t-t-them …”_

Tears dripped onto her robes, faster by the second, his bones rattling and his fingers gripped so hard it was a wonder they didn’t snap off his hand. Toriel tugged him close enough to hurt.

“Gaster. Gaster, that is _not true._ I thank the stars every day that you are safe, that you are here with me, alive.”

 _“But I k-killed them, Toriel!”_ he all but shouted, his voice broken by sobs, his hands trembling so hard he could barely sign, his tiny body so fragile in her arms. _“I let them die, I’m as bad as the humans, I watched it all and I—”_

His hands fell, but his voice kept going, words spilling out of him like he had been holding them in since the moment she found him under that coat. She cursed herself for not being able to understand him, cursed the fact that there was no one in the Underground who could understand him, cursed the humans who killed his family, the skeletons who ran straight to the front lines, cursed the world for leaving this child all alone with no one to hear his cries.

Then her face set, and her arms tightened around him, gentle murmurs of reassurance passing her lips almost without thought. Maybe she couldn’t understand him. Maybe there were things about him she would never be able to understand. But he was still a child, a child in need of comfort, and that was one thing she could provide.

She whispered to him for minutes on end as he sobbed into her robes. She pushed off the ground to make the chair rock again, back and forth, back and forth. She held him close until his cries began to fade, his body running out of tears. Then she began to sing, a wordless tune she had learned long ago. And when that song was done she sung another, and another, pausing only to press kisses to the top of his skull and rub his spine through his sweater.

She wasn’t sure when he went silent, or when his good eye fell shut. But eventually he went limp in her arms, resting against her, peaceful, silent, his nightmares forgotten, if only for a moment, as he settled into safety.

Toriel stayed in the chair, holding him, the rest of the night, and not once did he stir.


	57. Carol of the Bells: Day 5708

For all the enthusiasm Undyne had for decorating _their_ house, Toriel was a bit surprised to find out that she and Alphys had not yet decorated their own home for the holidays. But then again, Undyne _did_ tend to get far more enthusiastic when Papyrus was around, so perhaps she just wanted a chance to spend time with her friend.

Either way, it was nice getting to decorate again.

And it was even nicer to see the boys spending time with their new friends.

She supposed they weren’t really “new” friends anymore, given that they had known each other for more than a year. But a year was such a short time to her, and it was still so easy to remember when the only friends Sans and Papyrus had were the Froggits and Whimsuns and other little monsters who lived in the Ruins.

Now Papyrus saw Undyne at least every other day, however briefly, and though Sans and Alphys, both more shy by nature, had taken longer to come out of their shells, now it took less than a minute each visit before they fell back into another one of their scientific discussions that went way over her head.

And that was exactly how it went when the three of them arrived at Undyne and Alphys’s house, a box of decorations in each of their arms. Certainly, they got _some_ actual decorating done, but Toriel had known before they arrived that whatever they got done would merely be an extra. She wouldn’t put it past Undyne to make sure that they _didn’t_ get everything done, just so she had an excuse to get Papyrus to come over again—not that she needed one to convince him.

They put up a small tree and Frisk and Papyrus had fun covering it in ornaments they had made and collected, and Undyne managed to put the lights up outside without falling off the roof. But then Papyrus got tangled in the tinsel meant to decorate the furniture, and Undyne trying to get it off of him turned into a wrestling match, which Frisk gladly joined in on while Toriel chaperoned to insure they weren’t injured. Alphys took the opportunity to sneak off and read one of her manga books, and Sans, of course, was all too happy to wander into one of the back rooms to take a nap.

That was fine. Even if the house was a half-decorated mess, its occupants were happy, and that was more than enough to make the day a success.

So she settled into one of the armchairs in the living room with her knitting and watched her children and new friends enjoy themselves, marveling at the simple pleasures she would never again take for granted. Things were going well. That was all she could ask for.

It would be naive, and a shameless lie, to try to say that the past year had been easy. None of them had expected it would be, of course. There had been the initial carefree bliss when they reached the Surface, the thought that now that they were free, everything would be alright. But she hadn’t believed that. It had taken weeks of negotiation with the humans before they accepted the idea of monsters existing as _people,_ people with homes and families and careers and things to offer society, and weeks more before they had agreed to help the monsters construct their own village close to the human city.

The word “help” was a generous term. The humans didn’t interfere—much—aside from insisting on building permits, proper documentation, and an accurate census, but they certainly didn’t offer any assistance. It was up to the monsters to construct their own houses, shops, and roads, and essentially move their entire civilization up from underground. But they had done it before, when moving out of Home, and there was far more motivation now than there had been then.

Besides, not all humans were quite so wary. There were a few that stepped in to help with construction and moving, and a few more that brought refreshments and conversation while the monsters worked. It was those humans that filled them in on human culture and the state of the world—a very different world than the one Toriel remembered—and in exchange brought more accurate information about monsters to counteract the rumors that had been going around.

It didn’t stop everything. There were still attacks against monsters, occasionally physical, and even more often, verbal. It was still common to see news anchors or talk show hosts discussing the potential “dangers” of giving monsters freedom and legal rights. But they weren’t alone in this fight, and though it was going to be a long journey, at least the worst of it was behind them.

They were settling into their new home. Their _permanent_ home this time. A place where they could eventually spread out, grow to the sprawling community they had once been. In a few generations, perhaps stories of life in the Underground would be just that—stories. Monster children and human children would be friends again, just like they had before. They would bring in a future of peace.

Starting with the child who had given them a chance in the first place.

Even now, she was sometimes amazed at how quickly Frisk had adjusted—to life with them, to life on the Surface, to life acting as an impromptu, and only semi-official, ambassador between humans and monsters. It was a lot of change for anyone, especially a child, and far more pressure than she would have felt comfortable putting on someone of any age. But they took it all in stride. Little seemed to faze them. They had gone from a stranger to one of her children in only days, and now, just over a year later, even when the time seemed so brief, it was hard to remember what life had been like before they arrived. Sans and Papyrus had taken them in as their younger sibling, and they spoke of their “older brothers” with the sort of affection she would have expected of a child who had grown up with them from birth.

It was strange, and she didn’t understand it. But there were many things she didn’t understand. She could live with it.

“ _Sooooo,_ Papyrus.”

Toriel let her eyes drift to where Undyne had sidled up to Papyrus on the couch, wearing that mischievous grin that had alarmed Toriel when she first saw it, but now just made her chuckle fondly.

Papyrus fidgeted, but in his normal-nervous way, not the way that indicated any sort of real discomfort.

“UM … YES, UNDYNE?”

Undyne somehow grinned even wider, her teeth taking up a good half of her face. “When were you gonna tell me about your new boyfriend?”

Toriel paused her knitting.

Papyrus almost fell off the couch.

“W-WHAT?” he squeaked, leaning back a little from Undyne’s increasingly suggestive gaze. “BOYFRIEND? WHEN DID I ACQUIRE A BOYFRIEND? HOW WOULD I ACQUIRE A BOYFRIEND WITHOUT BEING AWARE OF IT?”

Undyne laughed loud enough to make everyone in the room, even Alphys, glance at her, though Alphys looked away a second later. Undyne nudged Papyrus with her elbow, just gently enough not to make Toriel’s motherly instincts flare. “You think I wouldn’t notice?! You two were chatting it up like crazy at the cafe yesterday! And you did the same thing last week!”

Papyrus blinked. Then he blinked again. He stared at her for a solid ten seconds, apparently trying to figure out what she was talking about.

Then his browbone rose.

“THE HUMAN NATHAN? BUT … WE WERE JUST TALKING.”

Undyne snorted.

“I think I know _just_ talking when I see it,” she replied, flashing him another knowing look. “He kept slipping in compliments, only charged you half-price for your drink, plus he winked at you every other sentence!”

“I THOUGHT SOMETHING WAS JUST WRONG WITH HIS EYE,” Papyrus muttered, as much to himself as to her.

Undyne paused, her smile slipping into something that wasn’t quite a frown.

“You seriously didn’t notice?” she asked. Papyrus just looked at her. Undyne laughed, more gently than usual, and gave him a fair softer nudge. “Well, he’s got a thing for you, Papyrus. And I’m not into guys, but he’s not half-bad looking. You should ask him out! We could do a double-date with me and Alphys and you two!”

Papyrus looked away.

“I … MAYBE.”

“Keep me posted,” Undyne added, giving his skull a quick noogie as she pushed herself off the couch and walked away. She called over her shoulder, grinning just as wide, “And if this one doesn’t work out, don’t worry, we can always find someone better!”

Papyrus smiled back, a shaky, uncertain thing, but Undyne had already looked away. If she had been looking at him, she would have noticed. She was good at reading him. She was … brash, and could be insensitive at times, but she loved Papyrus, truly and dearly, and she would never do anything to upset him.

On purpose.

As it was, she left the room, and Papyrus remained on the couch, fidgeting as he stared at the floor.

Toriel was half a second away from pushing herself to her feet and approaching him when Frisk crossed the room and flopped down next to him.

Papyrus jumped and turned to face them, but looked away again a second later. Frisk, perceptive and gentle as ever, tilted their head and laid a hand on his arm.

“You okay, Pap?”

“OH, I AM … FINE,” Papyrus managed, his voice tight and distant. He glanced at Frisk, then away once more. He cleared his throat. “IT IS JUST … THAT WAS NOT REALLY FLIRTING, WAS IT? THAT BARISTA WAS JUST BEING NICE!”

He looked at Frisk with something between expectation and pleading. Frisk gave him a look that somehow mixed sympathy with amusement.

“That was _definitely_ flirting.”

“WELL … YES, BUT YOU FLIRTED WITH ME AS WELL!” Papyrus tried again.

“and with mom,” Sans added, flopping down on Papyrus’s other side. Toriel could have sworn he was still napping, and hadn’t even seen him come into the room. But he did that a lot, and she had learned not to let it surprise her.

Papyrus nodded emphatically.

“YES, YOU FLIRTED WITH MOM, AND I AM QUITE SURE YOU DO NOT HOLD ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR HER! OR FOR ME!”

He nodded again, almost in triumph. Frisk gave him a funny look.

“So … you don’t like him back?” they asked. Papyrus’s triumphant grin dropped in a second, and his gaze fell to the floor. Frisk frowned and placed a hand on his arm. “It’s okay if you don’t, Pap.”

Papyrus fidgeted some more and shook his head.

“IT’S …I … I’M NOT REALLY SURE HOW I FEEL,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke as if to check that Undyne wasn’t listening in. “I … I DO NOT KNOW HOW … I AM NOT SURE IF I HAVE EVER … FELT SUCH FEELINGS. TOWARD … ANYONE.”

The words seemed to surprise even him as he said them, and as he went silent, a look of shock, of something near despair, touched his face, and he hunched in on himself even further.

For a moment, once again, Toriel thought of stepping in. But she paused, trying to remind herself that if Papyrus wanted her help, wanted her advice, he would come to her. He had always come to her, or … at least he had for a very long time. So despite her impulses, she stayed where she was, but kept her attention locked on the two of them as Papyrus fidgeted and struggled for his words, Sans snuggled into his side in silent comfort, and Frisk waited with never-ended patience shining in their eyes.

At last, Papyrus sighed and shook his head.

“I MEAN … FOR SUCH A LONG TIME IT WAS JUST ME AND MY BROTHER AND MOM, AND I THOUGHT THAT PERHAPS IF I MET ANOTHER MONSTER OR EVEN A HUMAN THAT ROMANTIC FEELINGS WOULD BLOSSOM FORTH LIKE THEY DO IN ALL THOSE LOVELY STORIES I’VE READ, BUT EVEN NOW THAT WE’RE ON THE SURFACE, I DON’T … I HAVEN’T …”

He trailed off again. Sans, still silent, leaned against him, resting a hand on his arm and giving it a tight squeeze. Papyrus put his hands between his knees, looking far more like a small child than the adult Toriel knew he was, his mouth curved in a tight frown. Frisk leaned forward and patted his knee.

“It’s okay, Pap. You don’t have to date anyone if you don’t want to.”

Normally, a reassurance from Frisk was all Papyrus needed to calm down. But now he barely even seemed to hear it. He glanced at Frisk, then at Sans, then over his shoulder toward where Undyne had disappeared.

“BUT … WHAT IF UNDYNE IS DISAPPOINTED? SHE SEEMED SO EXCITED ABOUT THE DOUBLE-DATE ACTIVITY …”

Frisk shook their head, patting his arm again. “She’s your friend, Pap. Your _best_ friend. She’ll understand.”

Papyrus looked at them, mouth pressed together into a thin, tight line. A bit of the tension leaked out of his shoulders, and he nodded without a word.

It felt like a long time since she had seen him so nervous about something. In fact … she couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. She was sure it _had,_ but the details seemed to escape her. Just like most of the exact events of what had brought the boys to her, and their first year or two living with her.

She rarely thought about it nowadays. If she had forgotten it, it couldn’t have been important. But if it had brought the boys to her, it _had_ to have been important, and it was hard to believe that she could just _forget_ how two skeleton children had become her sons.

Sometimes she looked at them and got vague impressions of two smaller children, who spoke less and whose smiles were even rarer. Children who looked at her in fear and suspicion, children who both clung to the slightest display of kindness and looked at it as a potential threat. Children in green medical gowns, watching her with wide eyes in an empty room.

She suspected they were nightmares. The sorts of nightmares she had had about Asriel and Chara, irrational fears about something awful happening to them—even if those fears turned out to be far less irrational in the end.

But the longer she thought about it, the more it felt like she was forgetting something else. Some _one_ else. Because these boys must have come from somewhere. All the skeleton monsters had died in the war, centuries ago, she was _sure_ of that. She had watched them fight, seen them fall, seen their dust spread carelessly over the ground. There was no one who could have created Sans and Papyrus. Yet here they were, two fully grown skeletons, her _children,_ seemingly popped out of nowhere, bright and unique and perfect and _hers._

They had to come from somewhere. From some _one._ If she had forgotten where they had come from … could she have also forgotten their parents? If they had had parents, how did they end up with her? Every time she thought of it, she felt a rush of anger, of betrayal, of _grief,_ but she had no idea why. What could have made her forget—

“Alright, nerds, let me show you how it’s done! Turn up the heat! Higher! _All the way up! Hotter, Papyrus!!”_

Toriel’s head snapped up, and she had only a second to realize the couch had been abandoned before her eyes flicked behind it.

Oh gracious. Undyne was in the kitchen.

Her knitting fell to the floor, forgotten, and she pushed herself to her feet to try to prevent yet another house fire, and her forgotten, desperately important trifles were tucked away to the back of her head yet again.


	58. Carol of the Bells: Day -149,245

Toriel was at the door the second the knock ended, and when she pulled it open, Gaster still had his hand in the air, poised to knock again.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, wide-eyed, before Toriel burst out into snickers.

Gaster flushed and looked away, but she could still make out a small smile on his own mouth. She put a hand on his shoulder and ushered him inside, still chuckling as she pulled the door shut and led him into the house.

She knew he had his own house now. His own job. His own life. But every time he came through the door, she felt like she was welcoming him home, and based on the way the tension in his body slipped away, he felt the same.

He didn’t come over as often as she would have liked—but she also knew that it would never be enough. She tried to be satisfied with visits for all the major holidays, as well as briefer, more casual meetings for tea and desserts in between. Sometimes Asgore joined them, but more often than not it was just the two of them. Asgore was fond of Gaster, and Toriel was sure the feeling was mutual. But Gaster still seemed to hold her in a unique favor, and no matter how much time passed, it never failed to flatter her.

It had been more than a hundred years since she had found that little boy huddled under the coat. A hundred years since she had led him at her side as the monsters retreated into the mountain, preparing for an eternity of exile. A hundred years since she had searched for anything to say, anything that could begin to console a child who had just lost his family, his friends, his entire _race,_ who had watched them murdered and been unable to stop it. A hundred years, and even though he had grown into a fine young skeleton, a fine skeleton who had a job and a home and his own separate life, she would never stop seeing that little boy every time she looked at him.

And whether he was a grown skeleton or a little boy, he was still getting a hug.

He relaxed a bit as they walked through the house, his smile more relaxed, without that forced propriety he seemed more and more keen on lately. By the time they reached the living room, he was smiling for real, the smile he tried so hard to hide in front of everyone else, the smile that made him look like the child she still viewed him as, regardless of his actual age.

Asgore looked up from rearranging the presents around the tree as they walked in, and smiled almost as wide as Toriel.

“Gaster! I’m so glad you could make it this year.”

 _“Of course, Your Majesty,”_ Gaster replied, inclining his head.

Asgore chuckled and shook his head.

“Please, how many times have I asked you to call me Asgore? We’re all friends here. Especially during the holidays! Besides, I know you call Toriel by her name.”

Gaster’s cheekbones turned faintly pink, and he turned away before nodding again, a bit more curtly. _“Y-yes, of course.”_

They let up on the teasing after that. They both knew that he had been trying to act more professional since he became the Royal Scientist. He had always been the type to hide his emotions, to push back affection, and she supposed it only made since that he would do it more now that he had a “big” job. It saddened her, as it had always saddened her, but as long as he still spoke to them, as long as he still opened up when it mattered, she could handle it.

Gaster passed out his gifts while Asgore laid out his and Toriel’s. The tradition of gift-giving for winter solstice was a fairly new one, but it had caught on quickly, as had many of the new traditions prompted by their new circumstances. Dancing under the stars might not have been possible, but they could still spend time making gifts for friends and family, and that was enough to keep everyone happy. Toriel still wasn’t sure who had first suggested it, otherwise she would have made sure to send them a gift every year in thanks.

On Gaster’s insistence, she opened his gift first—he always did seem so much more interested in seeing her reaction to his gifts than seeing what she had gotten him. He had evidently tried very hard to wrap the box neatly, but he had never been much good at crafts, and the paper barely stayed on the gift it covered. She made no comment on it, though, and forgot about it entirely when she pulled out the cloth concealed underneath.

“Oh, this is lovely, Gaster! Did you make it yourself?”

Even with her eyes locked on the elegant purple cloak in her hands, Toriel could still see Gaster flushing in her peripheral vision, his magical hands lifting to stutter out something about it not being remotely suitable for a queen to wear but how he had wanted to try out the sewing skills she had so graciously taught him. He was still sputtering when she laid the cloak aside to pull him into a tight hug, though it took him only a second to return it, settling into her embrace like he belonged there.

And in her eyes, he always would.

He had made Asgore a similar cloak, and received an equally-tight hug for his efforts. His face was bright red by the time Asgore released him, and he only flushed deeper when Toriel and Asgore burst out into laughter.

He opened his own gifts after that, and though he tried very hard to remain professional, she could see the gleaming in his eye when they presented him with a slightly-damaged microscope that had fallen in the dump and several more, apparently updated, books on human science. He could repair the microscope with ease, and though he likely already knew half of what was in those books, he always seemed happy to be reminded that there were others who shared his interests in how the world worked.

Even if he ignored the fact that they were human.

He loosened up after that, allowing them to draw him into conversation about what he had been up to lately, since they had seen much less of him. Toriel chided him for not visiting more often, for staying in the lab far later than he should, and for not eating—he had tried to ask her how she knew he had been forgetting to eat if she hadn’t been there, to which she replied that she had only suspected, but he had just confirmed it.

His annoyance didn’t last very long, though. Gaster had always been happy to talk about his current research, and now was no exception.

 _“I’ve been working on some new magical studies,”_ he explained, settling into his spot on the couch, the floor below him covered in discarded wrapping paper.

Toriel smiled, leaning a bit closer. “Oh, really?”

And there it was. The eager look in his good eye, the pride and excitement over research that had made Toriel _so sure_ that Gaster would be happy in his new position. Even if it made him even more prone to not taking care of himself.

 _“The results look promising,”_ he went on. “ _I think they might grant us a whole new view on the makeup of human souls. I might even be able to synthesize one, given enough time. And once I have one, I can make more!”_

Silence. Toriel looked at Asgore, and Asgore looked back. Both of them turned to Gaster with furrowed brows, and even though they both knew, certainly, what he had meant, it took a second to be certain they weren’t mistaken.

“You’re trying to break the Barrier?” Toriel asked at last.

Gaster kept smiling, but it slipped, a bit, into something more confused. _“Of course I am. Isn’t that what I’m meant to do?”_

“I simply wish for you to use your talents to make life better for all monsters,” Asgore replied, reaching out to squeeze Gaster’s shoulder. “I believe that is what you wanted.”

Gaster nodded. _“Of course it is. And that is what I’m doing. I’ll make life better for us by setting us free. I can do it. I know I can.”_

The smile returned full-force, and he looked between them a few times, seeking their approval. Neither of them spoke, or even smiled back, but it didn’t seem to deter him. He turned to Toriel, hope all but glowing on his face.

 _“I’m going to get us out of here, Toriel,”_ he signed, and it didn’t matter how old he got, it didn’t matter how little he looked like that boy she had found huddled under the coat, because she could still see that child staring back at her with his one good eye. _“I know there’s a way, and I’ll find it.”_

There was no doubt in his movements, or in his tone, even if she couldn’t understand the words that came out of his mouth. It wasn’t a question or a hope. It was a promise. And when Gaster made promises, he kept them.

She barely managed to keep herself from sighing as she rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“I have every faith in you, Gaster,” she said, meeting his gaze and forcing him to hold her gaze. “But please … take care of yourself. You are more important than any work you could be doing.”

 _“Yes, yes, of course,”_ he replied without missing a beat, flashing her what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile.

He hadn’t heard her. Not really. But there was nothing to be done when he wasn’t in a listening mood, so she just bit back another sigh and went back to opening Asgore’s gift to her.

She knew that he had never settled into life in the Underground like most monsters had. He had never accepted that this was the way things would be from now on. He had never accepted that they should just make the best of it, try to live a peaceful life and hope that one day, freedom would come on its own.

She hadn’t seen the anger in his eye when she had picked him up all those years ago, but she really should have known it was there all the same. It was there in the eyes of every monster, no matter how much fear overpowered it.

And he had lost more of his own kind that anyone else in this cave.

Yes, it made sense that he was angry, that he was desperate to escape this place. None of them particularly _wanted_ to be there, but they had adjusted. Gaster, for his part, still looked at it like a prison. A place they had to fight their way out of, if they ever wanted to see the sun again. And nothing she said was going to stop him.

Perhaps she would just have to accept that.

Perhaps it was his own way of coping with all that had been torn away from him.

Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as all that. It could be much worse, after all. He was occupying himself, doing something he enjoyed, and even if he was doing it too much, at least he _enjoyed_ it. She might not be happy about it, if this was what he wanted to do, then she wasn’t going to stop him.

Not yet, at least.

After all, he would wear himself down eventually. He would forget to eat or sleep one too many times, as he had when studying as a teenager, and she would carry him home and mother him until he woke up, and maybe then he would be a bit more open to listen to reasoning. Even if it took a few repetitions, he would understand. And maybe, in the meantime, he could find joy in his work. Find something worth living for. Who knows? If she was particularly lucky, maybe he would actually start talking to the other scientists Asgore had hired and make some friends.

He would be alright. He might not take care of himself, but he would be alright.

And she would always be there to make sure of it.


	59. Carol of the Bells: Day 5711

Toriel hadn’t ice skated in almost a century.

She had never spent much time in Snowdin before she moved to the Ruins, and it was only a few months before her … departure that the citizens put together something that resembled a “rink.” It was small and very quickly made, but it was functional and, most importantly, safe. There was minimal risk of falling through the ice, so when they invited her to try it out, she agreed. It had been fun, but once she moved back to the Ruins, she thought nothing of it.

Papyrus hadn’t heard about human ice skating rinks last winter, but this year, he eagerly informed them about one such “rink” in the human town, and insisted that they join him in trying it out. Sans wasn’t exactly excited about the idea of exercise, but once Frisk got wind of the idea and voiced their approval, he agreed with only a shrug. Just because he was going on the ice didn’t mean he had to actually _skate around,_ after all.

They chose a quiet evening to go out, when there were less humans on the rink, and they would be less likely to meet up with anyone unfriendly. They got a few strange looks when they went to the small building nearby to rent their skates, and even more strange looks when Toriel had to fashion custom skates for herself out of magic due to her large feet, but as soon as they were out on the ice, a bit of staring no longer seemed to matter.

Papyrus flew across the ice like he had been born to it, clasping Frisk’s hand and leading them along, catching them every time they stumbled. Toriel preferred a slower pace, and Sans just allowed himself to glide around, only moving when it was necessary to push himself along. He never stumbled, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether he had found a way to use magic to keep himself from falling over. Or maybe his balance really was that good.

After a while, Frisk got tired and left Papyrus’s side to skate with her, their tiny hand clutched in her own as they made their way around the other skaters, round and round in a large, slow circle, taking in the glimmering lights of the city, the rainbow colors of the holiday decorations mixed seamlessly in with the usual evening glow. The human town really was lovely, especially when it wasn’t so crowded. And even after a year, Toriel treasured every opportunity to look at the night sky. The city lights dimmed the stars somewhat, but she could still make them out, and she found herself looking up, naming the old constellations almost on reflex.

She wasn’t sure if she would ever get used to this being normal again.

But perhaps it was for the best not to take such nice things for granted.

Smiling to herself, she lowered her head and allowed her eyes to move over the rink around her. But she stopped as her eyes landed on a tall, white-furred figure standing out in the ground in the distance.

Looking at her.

_Asgore._

Standing on the side of the skating rink, just behind the gate, smiling and, very shyly, waving.

Toriel scowled, and found herself wondering whether it was worth the risk of alarming the nearby humans to throw a fireball in his direction. She did try not to employ violence around Frisk, but this was their day out, as a family, peaceful and happy, did he _really_ have to come and interrupt—

Movement to her left drew her attention downward, to find that her own irritated staring had encouraged Frisk to follow her gaze.

Their eyes lit up, and almost before Toriel could register then moving, they were already skating off toward the edge of the rink, toward where Asgore stood behind the gate.

Toriel lifted her hand and opened her mouth to call them back, but they were far out of her each, and in less than ten seconds they had stopped in front of Asgore, the two of them chatting away just quietly enough so that she couldn’t make out the words. She stood there, mouth opening and closing every second, debating whether to cross the rink and try to pull Frisk back herself, even though she knew she could never drag them away if they didn’t want to go.

But then—

“OH! HELLO YOUR MAJESTY!”

It had been months since Toriel had jumped at her own son’s voice, but now she found himself spinning, finally noticing Papyrus at her other side, beaming and waving toward their … unexpected guest at the edge of the rink.

“Papyrus, dear—”

But he was already off, skating after Frisk, twice as fast as anyone else on the rink. Despite his speed, he was amazingly careful to avoid bumping into anyone, and caught himself from falling when he all but slammed into the gate where Asgore stood.

And the three of them talked.

It wasn’t like she was really afraid of something happening to them. She was a reasonable monster, and she knew that he would never hurt any of them—that at this point, he would sooner die a hundred times over than hurt anyone else, no matter who they were, and he would never even think of harming Papyrus or Frisk, when he had grown so fond of them. But that didn’t stop the twisting in her gut, the pursing of her lips, the burning of the flame that sizzled against her palms.

They’re safe. They’re _safe._ He can’t hurt them, he won’t hurt them, she _knew_ that, but she could still see that little boy’s face as he cried, she could still hear his screams, she could still feel that hollowed emptiness as her former husband tore apart everything she had believed—

“i know why you hate him.”

Toriel almost tripped over her own ice skates when the voice popped up at her side.

She turned, far more quickly than usual—honestly, Sans had been sneaking up on her for more than ten years, she should really be used to this by now—and tried not to look as flustered as he was.

But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Frisk, and Papyrus. And Asgore.

“Sans?” she asked, as his words began to sink into her head.

He didn’t so much as glance her way.

“i know you didn’t want us to know. i know you … didnt want us to have to think about that kinda stuff,” he went on, sounding older than he had any right to. “it’s not too hard to put together, though. we needed seven souls to break the barrier. even if we dont know where the seventh came from … the first six had to come from somewhere. and after what all those other monsters said …”

He trailed off. He did look at her then, and his eyes were sad, almost apologetic. Her chest ached, and her stomach churned, but she swallowed back the fear threatening to overwhelm her and glanced at the trio in the distance again.

“Does Papyrus …?”

“no,” Sans replied, without missing a beat, as if he found the prospect just as alarming as she did. He turned away again, slipping his hands into his pockets. “he doesnt like to think about it. he … assumes the best about people. he likes asgore. he wouldnt want to imagine him doin somethin like that.”

Toriel shouldn’t have been as relieved about that as she was. She didn’t like keeping secrets from Papyrus, and especially not if she wasn’t keeping the same secrets from Sans. She hadn’t wanted either of them to know, but if one of them had to know … somehow, it seemed that Sans would be best equipped to handle it. She just wish she knew why.

“but i get it,” Sans went on, snapping her out of her thoughts. “why you cant forgive him. and i’ll stick with you. no matter what you do about him.”

Toriel opened her mouth, but just like she had when Frisk had asked her that uncomfortable question less than a week before, she found herself frozen. She stood there for several seconds, then sighed.

“Sans … just because I hold a grudge, that does not mean you have to do the same.”

“it’s not that.”

She raised an eyebrow. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then looked ahead again and shrugged.

“i dont like what he did either, but it’s … not gonna affect me the same way it affects you.”

Well. That was something, at least. The last thing she wanted to do was force her century-old bitterness onto her children.

“but he hurt you,” he finished, before Toriel could even think of responding. His shoulders tensed, and his eyelights narrowed. “that’s enough for me to wanna keep my distance.”

It was touching, somewhere beneath the ache of it all. Here was her grown son, trying to protect her like she would have protected him. She shouldn’t be happy about this. She shouldn’t be happy that her son felt something negative toward someone solely because of her. He should form his own opinions of the people around him, based on how they treated him, what he thought of them. Not his mother’s grudges.

But … she supposed that was one of the downsides of her sons loving her almost as much as she loved them.

“plus i … i remember you saying youd do the same thing for us.”

Toriel blinked, looking to him again. Sans wasn’t looking at Asgore anymore, or Papyrus, or Frisk, or even her. He stared down at the ice under his feet, as still as he had ever been, ignoring the humans and monsters skating nearby as if they were the only two people in the world. His eyelights had gone dark, like they did when he was deep in thought, or deep in a memory he couldn’t quite grasp.

“i dont remember when you said it, or … why, but … i remember you said that if someone hurt us … it was okay if we didnt wanna forgive them,” he went on, as much to himself as to her. “that … it was always our choice, and you wouldnt be mad or disappointed if we … never forgave em. as long as we were happy, and didnt let it keep hurtin us, it was okay.”

The words hung in the air between them and rang in her ears, over and over, and they were familiar, they were _so familiar,_ even if she couldn’t place them, she could hear her own voice saying that, she could see him looking up at her, so why …

“Yes, I … I remember saying something to that effect,” she replied. She turned to him, her eyes softening as she reached out to clasp his free hand. His left hand, as his right, as usual, remained tucked in his jacket pocket. “And I meant it. Even if I don’t remember the context.”

He tilted his head enough to look at her, and his permanent smile lifted at the corners, enough to make it look genuine.

“i know.”

Toriel smiled back without even thinking, and when she turned back a second later to see Frisk and Papyrus still chatting away with Asgore, the twisting in her chest was just a bit fainter than it had been before.

Neither of them said anything else. Frisk and Papyrus returned after another minute, and Asgore went on his way, waving at them before trudging off through the chill, likely back toward home. Frisk showed her the candy canes he had given to her and Papyrus, and the ones he had sent over for her and Sans, and Toriel smiled and nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

It wasn’t. And she never wanted it to be. But she said nothing about it.

She took the candy cane and slipped it in her pocket, and though she had every opportunity to throw it away, she didn’t.

But while even Sans eventually stuck his in his mouth and crunched it down in a few bites, hers remained uneaten even after they went home.


	60. Carol of the Bells: Day -40,880

It took three knocks before Gaster opened the door, and when he finally did so, it was with a grumble and a scowl, magical hands appearing above his hands, signing that he was really very busy and did not have time for visitors.

He was apparently too distracted to notice Toriel pushing past him until she was already in his house, holding an armful of supplies and beaming all the way across her face.

When he finally noticed he was talking to thin air, he turned around, met her eyes, and stared.

Toriel grinned wider.

His mouth opened and closed several times as he stood in front of the open door. When he finally spoke, it took his magical hands a few seconds to catch up and translate the gibberish that came out of his mouth.

_“You’re … what are you doing here?”_

But Toriel’s attention was already being drawn away by the entryway and the living room beyond it. She hummed and shook her head. “My, this is such a shame. Such a lovely house and you haven’t even decorated it yet!”

 _“Toriel, what are you doing here?_ ” he asked again, her eyes flicking over to him to catch the signs. Even as he spoke, he pushed the door shut, and she bit back a smirk. No matter how he protested, he still never denied her visits.

“I’m here to help you celebrate, of course,” she replied.

He blinked. Then he blinked again. His browbone furrowed, and a faint flush rose to the sides of his face.

_“You … it’s the winter solstice tomorrow. You should be home. With the King.”_

“The _King_ will still be there tomorrow, for our usual celebration,” she countered, readjusting the pile in her arms. She held her head a little higher. “Besides, I am free to do as a like, and right now, I want to be here with you.”

He looked away and frowned, but he was still blushing. _“I told you I was busy.”_

“Yes, you always are,” she murmured, glancing at the living room again. She could just make out a desk in the corner, piled with so many papers that they were beginning to fall off the edge. She looked to him again, unable to fully reign in the sadness in her eyes. “This is the first time in three hundred years that you’ve declined to spend winter solstice with us.”

She wasn’t mad, and he must have known that. His expression stiffened. He stared at the floor even as he pulled himself a little taller.

_“As I said. I’m busy.”_

“You’ve never been that busy before,” she countered. He ducked his head a little further. The flush in his cheekbones almost overpowered the white of the bone now. A small smile touched her lips. “Come. Help me put up these decorations, and I’ll see what I can put together for dinner. Then you can open your presents.”

Gaster’s head snapped up, blinking. He opened and closed his mouth several times in a row before finally clamping it shut. He paused, then let out a long heavy sigh and followed her into the main part of the house.

It wasn’t a large house, by any means. He lived on the outskirts of Home, where houses tended to be larger, and his Royal Scientist salary could have easily bought him one of the most expensive homes in the area. But Gaster was still a bachelor, no partner, no children, and rarely any guests, and a smaller house seemed to suit him better.

Though he really could have done with spending more time keeping it clean.

She made no comment on that issue and went straight to work, setting down her supplies on the small sofa before picking up some of the tinsel and greens. Gaster didn’t offer to help, but frankly his decorating skills were as … unique as his fashion sense, so perhaps that was a good thing. Instead, he stood by the wall, watching her turn his simple, cluttered living space into a holiday wonderland. There was only so much she could carry in her arms all the way from her home, but her arms were rather large and she was stronger than she let on. Perhaps there wouldn’t be a tree, but the room itself would be colorful and bright enough to substitute for one.

After half an hour’s work, Gaster’s home looked almost as festive as her own, and she had already gotten to work on a simple dinner, despite Gaster’s discouraging lack of anything that wasn’t instant. Even though his cooking skills were as bad as his decorating skills, she invited him to help, if only to keep him from lingering on the sidelines and looking like a stranger in his own home. A stranger around a woman who had known him for hundreds of years.

They had been working for a few minutes already, chopping vegetables and mixing up a simple sauce, when Gaster cleared his throat.

_“How are you … how have you been?”_

He wasn’t looking at her, but Toriel still turned to him and smiled. “Very well, thank you.”

He glanced at her, then flicked his good eye down to her belly for such a quick second that she might have imagined it.

_“You aren’t … in discomfort any longer?”_

“Oh, from time to time,” she replied, offering another smile to match her casual tone. “But that is how it goes, from what I understand. It is more than worth it.”

_“Mm.”_

He didn’t sound like he believed her. He wore the same expression he had worn every time her pregnancy came up, the expression that had planted itself firmly on his face the second she told him she was expecting, months before. He gave the vegetables far more attention than they deserved, and she held back the urge to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“I hope you’ll come to visit after they’re born,” she said, gently, optimistically.

The knife in his hand froze mid-cut, and he turned his head a little further away. _“I … will see when I have time.”_

Toriel bit back the sigh in her throat and looked back to the sauce in the pan.

Gaster had never called her mom. Not when he was awake, anyway. He had signed it a few times in his sleep, when he was still young—and a few more times as an adult, when she found him asleep in his lab or in the office and ran her hand over his skull to calm him from an apparent nightmare. But he wouldn’t say it while awake, no matter how close they became. She never asked about his biological parents. Perhaps he would feel like he was betraying a birth mother. She didn’t mind—or she tried not to, anyway. She knew how she felt for him, and how he felt for her. That was enough.

Perhaps that was the problem.

She had heard enough from other parents about how their older children reacted when they decided to have a second baby. But it hadn’t crossed her mind that the same principle might apply here.

It had been hundreds of years since she had carried that little skeleton boy in her arms, taken him with her into their new prison—their new _home_. Since she had brought him books to keep his mind occupied, encouraged his interests, shown every ounce of overwhelming pride she felt at each of his achievements. Felt the beginnings of the never-ending, unconditional love she would later come to recognize as that of a parent. But it didn’t matter how old he got. She could still see him, deep down. He had never left.

And she had forgotten how much that little boy had once needed to be reminded of things that, to her, were all too clear.

She took a deep breath and turned to him again.

“Gaster.”

He was done cutting, but still stared down at the cutting board with single-minded determination. _“Mm?”_

She put both hands on his shoulders and carefully turned him to face her. He didn’t resist, staring with one wide eye, and before he could properly react, she pulled him a little closer and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. As she pulled away, she smiled at him and let her emotions bubble forth to glow in her eyes.

“I love you.”

It had been a long time since she had seen his face so slack, so wide-eyed, so stunned. Or so red.

_“W … what?”_

Even his magic hands barely managed to form the sign as his mouth stumbled over the word. She smiled a little wider, a little sadder.

“I love you,” she repeated, without hesitation or even a touch of uncertainty. “You know that, right?”

He swallowed audibly and looked away, the magic flush on his cheekbones so prominent now it almost looked like paint. _“I-I … you …”_

He trailed off. Toriel sighed.

“I know it’s been a while since I’ve said it. Perhaps I should say it more,” she went on. He looked as if he were going to contradict her, but the second he met her eyes, the words apparently died in his throat. She gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “You are my family, Gaster. And I will always love you, no matter what.”

His mouth opened and closed with audible clicks. She could feel him trembling under her, and if she looked very closely, she swore she could make out the hints of tears growing in his sockets.

Then he jerked his head away, swallowed, and took a step back, drawing his arms in close to his chest.

_“I … I’ll go get my gift for you.”_

Toriel straightened, her brow up. “You have a gift for me?”

 _“Of course,”_ he replied, turning to her again with a baffled expression, as if it should have been obvious. There was something soft in his eyes, though it disappeared a second later when he cleared his throat. “ _You are my … Queen, and you’ve taken time out of your busy schedule to visit me. It is only proper that I have a gift for you.”_

She bit back a sigh and forced herself to smile. She nodded. He looked at her for a moment longer, the softness carefully tucked away behind forced propriety, before he turned around and scurried out of the room.

Toriel leaned against the counter, one hand resting over her belly while her ears listened to his footsteps growing further and further away.

Perhaps he would never call her mom. But that wouldn’t stop her from doing all she could to make him believe he was her son.


	61. Carol of the Bells: Day 5712

It was rare that Toriel got a minute alone nowadays.

She didn’t mind very much. The time she spent with others was time well spent—either working on establishing monsters’ place in this new world or enjoying the company of her family and friends. Papyrus and Sans were grown now, and they didn’t need her as much as they once had, but they were still her family, as well as her friends, and they spent a lot of time talking when she was home. Frisk, independent and easy-going as they were, still needed her around as much as she might expect of a child their age. They never asked for her company, or seemed upset if she wasn’t around, but she gave her attention as freely as she could.

She got the feeling, sometimes, that Frisk hadn’t gotten that attention before, and she was determined to fill that gap.

But still, the moments she got by herself, to knit or sew or read or write in her journal, were nice. Tonight, after she had said goodnight to the boys and put Frisk to bed, she chose reading. She had brought her own armchair up from the Underground and settled it close to the fireplace. She had lived in that house for a very long time, and it was nice to have a bit of familiarity when everything else was so different.

She had been sitting there less than half an hour when she heard the sound of faintly thudding footsteps coming down the stairs. She started to turn to face it, but by the time she had moved, she already felt the familiar weight climbing into the chair next to her, tucking himself in next to the arm of the chair.

“Papyrus?” she asked, staring down at him as he settled against her side. A second later, she felt another weight on her left, and turned her head just in time to see a skull resting on her shoulder. “Sans? Is everything alright? I thought you were asleep.”

“not tired,” Sans muttered. She couldn’t catch any of the distress in his voice that usually appeared when he had had a nightmare, or was in the midst of another of his depressive episodes.

Papyrus nestled a bit closer. “WE SAW YOU IN YOUR CHAIR AND YOU LOOKED VERY COMFORTABLE, SO WE THOUGHT WE WOULD SEE IF IT WOULD MAKE US COMFORTABLE, TOO.”

Sans hummed in quiet agreement. He might have said he wasn’t tired, but she could see the faint drowsiness in the lights of his eyes. But no matter what the reason was, even if there was no reason at all, she wasn’t about to turn them away. She chuckled, setting her book on the arm of the chair and resting her arms around them, tugging them a bit closer.

“Very well,” she said. “That’s fine.”

It had been a long time, since just the three of them had been together like this.

Sometimes she forgot that this was how it had been for so long. That until a year ago, they were all each other had, their tiny but beautiful little family. She loved their friends. She loved Frisk. But she had loved this, too.

She had never talked to the boys much about adopting Frisk. It hadn’t even been a conscious decision. It had just … happened. Frisk had arrived in the Ruins, stayed for a few days, then said they wanted to leave. Toriel had tried to convince them to stay, but they had insisted, and soon Papyrus was insisting on going with them, to “BE A GOOD MOM LIKE YOU AND KEEP THEM SAFE.” Of course, Sans wouldn’t let his brother go anywhere without him, and Toriel couldn’t even fathom the concept of letting three of her children face the Underground on their own. And so it was the four of them, trekking through the Underground on an impossible mission, shattering the peace of more than a decade with new friends and temporary enemies and a world they barely knew.

Then they were on the Surface, and Frisk had said—only when prompted—that they wanted to stay.

Toriel hadn’t even entertained the thought of rejecting them.

And so their family of three had grown to a family of four.

But she had never asked Sans or Papyrus how they felt about it, and until now, it had never crossed her mind, at least not for more than a second, that they would take issue with it.

But jealousy was understandable when a new sibling was introduced, no matter what the age. They had never had to share her before, and Frisk required more attention than her grown boys. Maybe they had missed these moments together. Maybe they had wanted this, and just never dared to ask. Had she made the wrong choice? She couldn’t imagine not having Frisk with her, but perhaps she should have found another monster without other children. Sans and Papyrus might be grown, but they had their own issues, their own problems, problems that had always been there even though she had no idea where they had come from and—

“OH! I FORGOT TO TELL YOU! FRISK AND I FINISHED THE BIG JIGSAW PUZZLE TODAY!”

Toriel blinked, and looked down at Papyrus, now staring up at her with a beaming, proud smile.

“The one with five thousand pieces?” she asked.

“yup,” Sans muttered, his sockets half-closed, his face nestled into her shoulder. “they finally found the last piece.”

“Oh? Where was it?”

Papyrus frowned. “UNDER ONE OF SANS’S DIRTY SOCKS! JUST LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE WE LOSE IN THIS HOUSE!”

“not true, bro. how would frisk’s lost backpack fit under one of my dirty socks?”

“I DON’T KNOW, BUT I’M SURE YOU WOULD FIND SOME WAY TO MANAGE IT!”

Sans smirked. “hey, even i’m not _that_ talented.”

Papyrus groaned, a long-suffering yet somehow affectionate sort of groan, but said nothing else.

The weight in Toriel’s chest had lifted without her even noticing it. Now she looked down at the two of them, her boys, her sons, her oldest, and all she saw was two young monsters who had taken on the role of big brothers like fish to water, and would keep on doing so long after Frisk had grown. Just like they would always be her babies, no matter how old they became.

She smiled a little softer.

“How would you two like a story?”

Papyrus looked at her. “WHAT KIND OF STORY?”

“like a bedtime story?” Sans asked, eyes still half-closed. “didn’t think we did those anymore.”

“Well, it’s always nice to revive an old tradition,” she replied. “Besides, this is a special time of year, and I’ve discovered a new book to celebrate it. Apparently it’s quite a classic among humans. _The Night Before Christmas.”_

Sans looked at her for a second, then nodded and rested his head back on her shoulder, letting his eyes fall completely shut. “hm. sounds good.”

“BUT WHAT ABOUT FRISK?” Papyrus asked as Toriel used her magic to shift the book from the top of the pile on the coffee table. “WOULDN’T THEY LIKE TO HEAR THE STORY?”

“I wouldn’t want to wake them,” Toriel said, without hesitating, though without any sort of urgency. The book lifted from the table and came to rest in her hands. “How about we invite them tomorrow night? The three of us can read it tonight, and tomorrow we can get together as a family and make a proper show of it.”

Sans made a faint humming noise, opening his eyes enough to glance at the book before closing them again.

“sounds good to me.”

Papyrus smiled. “IN THAT CASE, PROCEED WITH THE STORY, MOM! PLEASE!”

Toriel chuckled and settled back a little further into the chair, feeling the warmth of the crackling fire soothe away the last of the tension in both of their bones.

“Of course, Papyrus. Let’s see …” She leaned down to press a quick kiss to each of their skulls, then smiled a little wider and flipped the book open to the first page. “’’Twas the night before Christmas …”


	62. Carol of the Bells: Day -37,595

Toriel almost didn’t notice Gaster come in.

Asgore had gone to answer a call at the door, and Toriel had occupied herself with watching the children open their presents. No matter how old Asriel got, it never got any less enthralling to watch him receive his gifts—and it was twice as special with Chara here to join them. They had said nothing about it out loud, but she had gotten the impression, from looks and offhand comments, that they had not had the most … notable holidays in the past. They had no particular attachment to winter solstice—or any corresponding human holiday—and none of the joy she would have expected in children of their age.

Well. She would just have to change that.

They didn’t have half of Asriel’s enthusiasm, and she wasn’t sure they had ever heard the phrase “thank you” in their life. But manners weren’t the priority. Asriel expressed his thanks out of genuine gratitude, not obligation, and she was not keen to raise a child who spoke polite words only because they had been told to, without the feeling behind them.

And though Chara tried very hard to hide it, they could not quite stifle the looks of surprise and delight each time they found a present with their name on it, and tore open the paper to find something they actually liked.

It was a refreshing sight in its own way, and between their quiet wonder and Asriel’s bright-eyed enthusiasm, it was easy for Toriel to miss Asgore returning to the room. By the time she looked up, he was only a few yards away, with their new guest trailing behind him, even more reluctantly than usual. Toriel beamed.

“Gaster!” She waved him over without getting to her feet. Her legs were stiff, and moving would only make more of a mess of the wrapping paper strewn all around her. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Asgore went back over to the couch, where several gifts were waiting to be opened, but Gaster remained where he was, still a few feet away from the main gathering. His eye flicked to Asriel, and lingered on Chara, but when they returned to her, they were soft. He nodded.

_“Hello, Queen Toriel.”_

“Uncle Gaster!” Asriel called, looking up at last from the half-unwrapped present in his hands.

Chara followed suit, their face spreading into a vaguely mischievous smile, as they always seemed to whenever Gaster was around.

“Hi, Uncle Gaster.”

Gaster hadn’t been smiling before, but he outright flinched as Chara spoke, his mouth curving down into a scowl.

 _“_ Doctor _Gaster,_ ” he corrected, his magical hands as sharp as his voice.

Asgore winced. Toriel sighed.

“Gaster, really. I’m sure Chara respects your title, but we’re among family here. There’s no need for formality.”

Gaster wouldn’t meet her eyes. Asriel made a worried face.

“I always called you Uncle Gaster,” he said. “Is that … not okay?”

Gaster’s eye turned back to Asriel, and something flickered in them. Regret, perhaps. It was gone too quickly for Toriel to say. He shook his head and clenched his hands around the packages in his arms.

 _“No, Prince Asriel, it …”_ He stopped and sighed. _“Nevermind. I’ve brought gifts.”_

He said it like he might talk about having paid his taxes, but he still set down the presents gently, carefully, like he had every time before. Toriel started to say something, but stopped herself, and instead just thanked him before walking over to the tree to find the gifts she had set there for Gaster, just in case.

Gaster didn’t like Chara. He had made no secret of it from the moment they arrived, even if he had never said anything about it out loud. He asked them once, early on, when it was still sinking in, if they were really sure about this. If they really believed it was safe to bring a human into their home, to allow them to roam free.

Toriel and Asgore had told him, gently, but with no room for argument, that Chara was their child, and their species made no difference.

Gaster said nothing else after that.

And he spent far less time with them from then on.

He would still come over—even more frequently than before, in fact. But it was brief, just long enough for a very quick chat and for him to “check in” on Chara, as if to make sure they weren’t doing something he disapproved of. He never stayed to chat unless she or Asgore insisted, and even then, he didn’t really _talk._ He acted toward them like he might toward a king and queen he had never met before, who he visited only out of obligation from his position rather than the affection he had once held.

Still held, she was sure. Even if he didn’t show it.

He hadn’t been happy when Asriel was born. He had been … betrayed, in a way, even if he had never spoken it out loud. But he had managed. He had backed off, but he had still come by.

But when they had taken in Chara, he had looked at them like they were inviting in the very people who had murdered everyone he loved.

He wasn’t angry. She knew what he looked like when he was angry, and this wasn’t it. He was afraid. He was confused. He was concerned. And he was hiding it all behind a mask he still thought she couldn’t read.

She had hoped that that mask would fade with time, that he would come to her to talk about it, that they could figure out how to work past his … issue with Chara. But all he had done was beg them to reconsider, that the human would betray them, would _kill_ them, because that was what humans _did._ Toriel had refused to hear anything against her child. Gaster had gone silent. And he had said nothing more about it.

The mask remained.

Gaster sat on the ground at Toriel’s insistence, though he made sure to sit as far from Chara as he could. Chara kept sneaking glances at him, smirking, and Gaster tried to glare back at them without catching Toriel’s attention. It was a bit like watching two bickering children try to escape the notice of nearby adults, and Toriel wasn’t sure whether it was more amusing or sad to see Gaster act so young again, in any way, when he had been trying for long to appear grown-up.

“I’m most excited to see what you’ve brought, Gaster,” Toriel said at last, and that worked, if only just, to bring his attention back to them. He looked down at the pile of wrapped boxes, then nodded and began to hand them around.

There were gifts for Toriel and Asgore, of course, just as there had been for centuries. There was a gift for Asriel—likely some kind of stuffed animal or generic toy, since Gaster never seemed particularly interested in learning about Asriel’s interests, and besides, Asriel was easily pleased.

Toriel feared, for a moment, that Gaster would have forgotten to bring something for Chara. But as he handed over Asriel’s gift, he paused for a moment, the final gift clutched under his arm, before he set it a few feet away from Chara and nudged it in their direction, like he might offer food to a wild animal he was afraid would bite him.

Chara gave him a look, but said nothing, and set the gift aside to be opened later.

On some level, Toriel was relieved. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what it was.

Gaster turned to her again, an expectant, vaguely excited look in his eye, the same look he had worn the first time he had made her a gift for her birthday, when he was still a child. The look never changed. The desire to make her happy. The hope that a gift would show how much he appreciated what she had done for him. The look only grew when she unwrapped the paper to reveal a music box, carefully and lovingly carved, which played a song she vaguely recognized as _You Are My Sunshine._ She hugged him, and he flinched for a good five seconds before gently, carefully, hugging her back.

While he was distracted watching Asgore open his own gift, she reached under the tree and pulled out a box. When she turned back, she found him smiling at Asgore’s enthusiastic reaction to the new flower-print shirt Gaster had apparently handmade. Even after years without a proper lesson, he apparently hadn’t forgotten how to sew.

She took a moment to savor the look on his face, which she knew wouldn’t last. All he ever had to do was look at Asriel to remember how much things had changed, and when he looked at Chara … well, she knew he wouldn’t be smiling any longer.

So before he could, she touched his shoulder, and when he turned, she held out a box.

“This is for you.”

Gaster looked at the gift, then at her, then away again, a faint color touching his cheekbones. He had always looked embarrassed when receiving gifts, but today, she swore he looked ashamed.

_“There’s no need for that, Queen Toriel.”_

“Gaster, please,” she replied, holding out the gift a little further. “For today. Just call me Toriel.”

He looked at her, his head still tilted away. She smiled. The color on his face darkened, but he nodded.

_“Very well.”_

He took the gift in careful hands and turned his attention to it, as if that might help him focus on something other than his embarrassment. He ran his fingers over the wrapping almost reverently, his expression softening just a bit. No matter how scarce resources became, she always tried to have proper wrapping paper for gifts, even if she had to make it herself. He had never said so, but she knew he appreciated it.

Just as his hand touched the bow to unwrap it, she touched his shoulder and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

His head jerked up, his face flushing completely now, and it took all the willpower she possessed not to laugh. Instead, she merely gave him a gentle smile. He didn’t seem to notice Asriel and Chara giggling in the background. He just stared back at her, wide-eyed and flustered, like the child she had taken in all those centuries ago.

After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and looked away, but when Toriel’s hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, he leaned a bit closer. She watched him unwrap the paper with the utmost care, then watched him take out the new black sweater in gentle hands. Watched him stare down at it like a young boy had once stared down at a new science book. As if it were the most precious thing in the world. And despite the persistent twisting in her stomach, Toriel found her lips curving into a smile.

Maybe they could still make this work. Maybe they would never be able to get back what they had before. Maybe Gaster would always be … jealous, or resentful, at least on some level. But perhaps he could come to accept Asriel—and Chara, even though that would likely take much longer. Maybe he could see more in them than just the long-dead people who had taken away those he loved.

He could do it. And she could help him.

They just needed time.


	63. Carol of the Bells: Day 5714

She knocked three times, curt and precise, and spent exactly six seconds listening to the shuffling and humming inside before she heard the doorknob turn—he still left his door unlocked, after all this time. Then the door opened, and she was met with a smiling face that never failed, even after a year, to make something in her cringe.

He was wearing a Santa hat.

He stared at her for exactly two seconds before his smile fell and his whole body stiffened. There was a hint of something like hope in his eyes, just like there was every time he saw her, but it was muffled under a far greater amount of shame.

She couldn’t suppress the satisfaction she felt at that. Even though she would never wish this much shame on anyone else, with him, she never quite felt that he had gotten enough of it.

They stood there, eyes locked for a good ten seconds. Then Asgore swallowed, his eyes growing even wider than before.

“… Tori?”

She stiffened further. Asgore averted his gaze and cleared his throat, fiddling with the hem of his reindeer-themed sweater.

“I-I mean, Toriel … what a pleasant surprise,” he corrected, looking back to her with a brief smile that fell as soon as he got a good look at her. He glanced over his shoulder. “Would you … like to come in—”

“You should know that this is not my idea, nor is it something I would have asked you on my own,” she cut him off.

Asgore blinked. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything. She let out a long sigh, and forced herself to hold his gaze as much as she wanted to look away.

“But I thought I should let you know that both Frisk and Papyrus have extended their invitations for you to attend our Gyftmas celebration tomorrow. And …” She swallowed back the instinctual bite to her voice. “Should you wish to attend, I will not protest. You will be welcome among us. For the duration of the celebration.”

She knew she didn’t need to say that as soon as the celebration was over, she wanted him out of her house, and she didn’t want to hear a peep out of him until the new year.

He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her with an expression that somehow looked both like he had been slapped across the face, and like he had been offered the olive branch he knew he didn’t deserve. It wasn’t an olive branch. It was doing what would make her children happy.

She stood up a little further, a little firmer.

“It is your decision. But should you decide not to come, you should be prepared to provide a good explanation to both of them on your own, because I will not be making one up for you.”

He closed his mouth at last and blinked a few times. But he still stared. Toriel huffed an irritated sigh.

“Goodnight, Asgore.”

She pivoted on the balls of her feet and started down the short sidewalk leading back toward the street. Honestly, she didn’t know why she hadn’t just left a note. It would have taken a good deal less effort, and she would have gotten about the same amount of conversation out of it. Not that she had been hoping for a conversation, but he could at least do more than just _stare—_

“Toriel?”

Toriel clenched her hands into fists to smother the flames that sprung up in her palms. She stopped, but did not turn around.

“What?” she bit out. She had desserts to finish baking, presents to wrap, and Frisk had asked for her presence during Papyrus’s storytime this evening—

“I’m sorry.”

Toriel’s thoughts ground to a halt.

She stood there, with the crisp chill of the wind biting at her cheeks, the world silent aside from the faint sound of chattering of neighbors and movement of small animals nearby. Asgore didn’t try to approach her. He had long learned that that was a foolish idea. He stayed on the porch, and she stayed on the sidewalk, and nearly a minute passed before he let out a long, heavy sigh.

“I know I’ve said it before,” he went on. “I know I … could say it a thousand times, ten thousand times, and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

She pursed her lips and bit back the urge to tell him exactly how _much_ it didn’t mean.

“Apologies cannot change what I have done.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and she clenched her teeth, but still she did not speak.

“I know there is no excuse for my actions. I can give any reason I like, but the fact remained that I hurt … killed … six innocent children,” he went on, the ache in his voice audible despite its low volume. She could almost see him hanging his head, staring at the ground. “Six children who you loved.”

She stiffened further and spun around on her heels, a heat burning in her clenched hands. “They didn’t deserve to live _just_ because I loved them—”

“I know,” he cut her off, desperate but repentant, pained, and completely accepting. He looked at her before hanging his head again. “I know.”

Toriel had built up ten thousand words already, but they all died then, fading away in the back of her throat before they could reach her lips. She wanted to yell at him, to repeat everything she had said a hundred times before, but nothing came out.

Asgore sighed again.

“They were … they were just children. Just like … like Chara,” he murmured, as if he were talking as much to himself as to her. “And I … murdered them because I was … a coward. Because I was too afraid to stand up and tell everyone that I had made a mistake. I was … too afraid of taking away their hope.”

He lifted his head then. Not in pride. Not in certainty. He lifted his head like a criminal who has recognized his mistakes, who has felt the full weight and guilt of them, but who knows that the damage is done, and can never be repaired.

“But the hope of a people is not worth the cost of an innocent life,” he went on, a little louder, a little more sure. “I know that. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I won’t ask for it. But … I wanted you to know, if it means anything at all.”

Toriel stood there, silent, eyes wide and lips pressed together. She didn’t want to know what would happen should she open them. She didn’t want to risk the chance of loosing the tears building in the back of her throat.

It had been months since she had last thought of them, _really_ thought of them, but now she could see them all, see their faces, hear their voices, their names engraved in her head. She could feel their tiny bodies in her arms, she could hear their sobs, their laughter, their insistence that they at least _try_ to get out of here, she could see the last memories of their faces as they left the Ruins for good.

All of them hopeful. All of them so determined to get back home.

None of them ever saw the sun again.

All because of—

Because of—

It was still his fault. It would always be his fault. It didn’t matter why he did it, he had still _done_ it, he had still murdered six innocent children, and she wanted to scream it to the heavens until he understood it but he _did,_ he understood it, he regretted it, but that didn’t change anything, it would _never_ change anything, there was nothing he could do that could make up for what he did and _why did he have to accept that fact so easily?!_

She looked at him, and saw pain and guilt and sorrow. He had asked for her forgiveness, once, and she had denied him. He had never asked for it again. He accepted his fate. He accepted it, and lived his life, doing the best he could for those around him.

What they had once had had been lost. It had died with Asriel and Chara, and it had been trodden into the ground with his decree of the death of all humans.

They would never get it back.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. No words came. He looked at her, his eyes aching and soft, and for a moment, for the first time since she had left the Ruins, since the moment she had watched that sweet little boy killed at his hands, she thought to mourn the love he continued to give, but which she would never be able to give back.

She nodded, once, short and curt and lacking in the response she knew he so desperately wanted, but which he already knew she could not give.

Then she turned around and started back toward home.


	64. Carol of the Bells: Day 236

She had been preparing for weeks, and still, she was rushing.

Everything had been decorated, and she had begun preparing the celebratory meal for tomorrow. All that she needed to do was wrap the presents.

Granted, there were quite a few presents.

She had never believed the idea that too many gifts was bad for children, if they were given with love and care and a spirit of generosity, if it was only the icing on a cake of continual support and affection. Toys couldn’t replace emotional connection. Neither could butterscotch pie. But that didn’t stop her from giving it generously.

The boys had gone to bed more than an hour ago, and she had started wrapping as soon as she was sure they were asleep. She was almost done now. A pile of gifts sat in front of her, decorated in the best paper she had been able to find and topped with carefully-tied bows. Toys weren’t exactly widely available around the Ruins, especially since she had already collected so many of them, but she had been able to make due. The boys had had no particular requests for Gyftmas, and they were far from picky, so she hoped these would make them happy.

She wrote each of their names on the last couple of boxes with care to disguise her handwriting—even though she was fairly sure there would be no hiding it from Sans. Papyrus would enjoy the Santa story, she had little doubt, and Sans liked anything that made his brother happy. She could always explain it to him later if he was uncomfortable with the idea.

As she added the gifts to the pile and pushed herself to her feet, she stumbled and bumped into the bookshelf behind her. She bit back a curse. Really, she might be old, but she hadn’t physically aged in years—though she _had_ been sitting down for a while. She stretched a bit, getting rid of the residual tension in her legs, before she looked down and noticed that one of her books had fallen from the shelf.

She reached down to pick it up, but before her fingers could brush the cover, she paused.

It wasn’t a book.

It was an album.

She had forgotten she put that up there. It was so rare that she went through the books on her personal bookshelf, given how many times she had read them, and she hadn’t looked at that album in … it had to have been at least two years. She had looked at it all the time when she first left, trying to remember the good times, everyone she had left behind. When the next human child had fallen, she had left it alone for a while, only to bring it back out as soon as they left. And again and again, over and over, remembering and forgetting until she let it drift into obscurity, because forgetting was far easier than remembering what she had lost.

And after the boys had arrived …

But there it was. Sitting there, like she had never tucked it away at all.

She picked it up before she realized what she was doing, and sat on the edge of her bed, holding it in careful hands. She stared at it for at least a minute before she finally lifted the cover and looked inside.

And saw Gaster’s face staring back at her.

She almost slammed it shut then and there. She didn’t want to deal with this. Not now. Not after everything that had happened, everything she had, everything _he_ had … but she couldn’t make her hands move. All she could do was sit there and stare at the skeleton standing next to a younger version of herself, while she smiled at the camera and held him under her arm and he tried to hide his embarrassed flush.

He looked shy. Nervous. Trying to act distant and proper, _he had his doctorate now, he couldn’t act like a child anymore, no matter how much she loved to treat him as one,_ when she knew that he loved it, appreciated it, even if it confused him.

There were others after that. Photos of him learning to sew, awkward at first but quickly picking up the new skills, his excited face—captured without his knowledge—as he told her about his new ideas for the Core, his stiff but genuine smile as he sat with her on the morning of winter solstice, holding his first unopened gift.

He was anxious, awkward, and he tried far too hard to act the adult with the big important job who didn’t need anyone to look after him, even though in many ways he was still a desperate child seeking approval.

She had left him. She left all of monsterkind, and she had left him.

And he had made two children in her absence, and tortured them.

She had to bite back the rush of nausea growing in her throat as she clutched the book tight in her hands, unable to close it as badly as she wished she could.

Could she have stopped this?

Could she have prevented it? If she hadn’t left, if she had stayed, if she had tried to fight Asgore’s decision rather than just … _accepting_ that there was nothing she could do, accepting that this was what monsters had become …

If she had tried to take Gaster with her …

Would he have come? He was so loyal to Asgore, so dedicated, but he had always looked at her differently. He had followed her guidance when even Asgore failed. He had looked at her with a soft affection that seemed exclusive to her, she had never seen or heard of him letting anyone else hold him when he cried, he had trusted her, cared for her, and she had …

If she had stayed … would Gaster have still done this?

Would he have hesitated more? Would he have hidden it from her, like he had hidden it from Asgore? Would he have come to her before he did it, would he have realized that it was a horrible idea?

How had he felt when she left? She had left in anger, without even saying goodbye, struck by the betrayal, the _pain_ of the acts of her ex-husband, but Gaster … he didn’t know what had happened to her. He had told her, through the door … he had thought she was dead.

It had been so easy to be angry, to feel anger and nothing else, when he was standing outside the door to the Ruins. When she had two small boys to protect, boys that he had hurt, all that mattered then was that she was a mother and he had threatened her children.

It was so easy to forget the child she had found rattling his bones underneath a coat in a dust-covered battlefield.

It was so easy to forget the boy she had rocked in her arms and sung to sleep.

It was so easy to forget centuries of affection, of friendship, of words never spoken, of love expressed through looks and gestures, it was so easy to forget that she had once looked at him and seen a son …

Toriel didn’t notice her hands were shaking until she had dropped the book on the bed beside her, and she didn’t feel the tears on her cheeks until they dripped down onto her lap.

She could have stopped this. She could have done something, _anything,_ if she had known … if only she had _known,_ she could have stopped this from happening at all. If she had been there for him, if she had seen this coming, if she had noticed the signs that he was capable of something like this … If she had supported him better in the early days, helped him deal with his trauma, she should have seen that scared, lonely little boy looking at her through much older eyes, she didn’t want to believe it was the same little boy who had stood on the other side of the door and all but begged her to return two children so he could _torture_ them, he had called them _things,_ the same boy she had loved like her own, he had been her child even though she never said it out loud, maybe if she had said it out loud he would have come with her, he could have stayed with her and none of this would have happened and everything …

Everything …

Her hands fell to her lap, and her breath came in trembling huffs.

She would never know if she could have prevented it. She would never know what kind of person he would have become, if she had done something differently. Maybe he had already been too badly scarred by the time she found him. Or maybe … it was a fault of her own. Something she hadn’t given that he desperately needed, but dared not ask for. Maybe she could have read him better, could have understood him better, and hadn’t. Maybe if she had tried harder, if she had just known what to do, then she could have healed whatever wound had made him so willing to hurt those who should have been most precious to him.

His …

… because they _were_ his children, weren’t they? He had _made_ them, he should have adored them, cared for them, showered them in love, like she had done for him but maybe she hadn’t done enough she didn’t know what his family had been like before maybe they had ingrained this pain in him she didn’t know she had never asked he had never told her and now she would never know.

Now … there was no going back.

What was done, was done. No matter his reasons, he had created these children, and he had hurt them, in ways she had never before imagined someone could hurt a child.

It might have been her fault. And it might not have been.

In the end, it was his hands that had done it.

And she couldn’t decide whether or not that made a difference.

Toriel pushed herself to her feet, despite the trembling of her legs. She closed the book, against every instinct that told her to look at just one more photo. She tucked the album back onto the shelf with more care than she had intended. She looked at it for a moment longer, then tore her gaze away, letting it fall again on the pile of presents before her.

Her chest softened, just a bit.

She would never know what might have been. She would never know what she might have prevented, or what might have happened despite different choices.

What she did know, for certain, was that there were two boys in the bedroom down the hall that she loved very much. There was nothing she could do to fix their past, or the past of the person who had created them. But she could do everything in her power to give them a good life from here on out.

Starting with the best Gyftmas they could ever imagine.

She took a deep breath, nodded to herself, and picked up the first gift before slipping out of her room and tiptoeing down the hall to place it under the tree.


	65. Carol of the Bells: Day 5715

The door slammed open hard enough for the doorknob to punch another hole in the wall, but Toriel didn’t do more than sigh, smile, and offer Undyne and Alphys a seat among the pile of still-wrapped presents and discarded wrapping paper already littering the floor.

It was going to take long time to clean up the mess, but she already knew it would be worth it.

She had woken up to Frisk bouncing on the bottom of her bed, joined quickly by Papyrus, who almost dragged her out from under the covers on his own. Sans waited in the doorway, grinning lazily, until she finally laughed and gave in, following them downstairs so she could start breakfast.

She had planned for a whole day of celebration, and opening presents was merely to be the start of it. She had already prepared a lunch fit for a group twice the size she expected, and the afternoon was to be spent playing board games on the living room floor until everyone had to go home. It was the most elaborate celebration she had put together in years, and she was looking forward to it immensely.

Alphys and Undyne arrived about five minutes into the opening of presents, each of them holding a pile of gifts in their arms which they immediately deposited under the tree. As expected, Alphys took her spot near Sans, and Undyne joined Papyrus. Toriel passed out several of gifts still sitting under the tree, and in under a minute, they had returned to the peaceful chaos of before.

Everyone she loved, happy and safe and celebrating, for the first of what she hoped would be many years to come.

But it was clear, almost immediately, that things weren’t going as smoothly as she had thought. At least, not for everyone. Frisk, Alphys and Undyne didn’t seem to notice a problem at all, but Toriel only needed a glance in Papyrus’s direction to see that even as Undyne rambled on about gifts and games they could play layer, Papyrus’s mind was elsewhere. Sans noticed, too, of course, though he hadn’t said anything about it.

Papyrus nodded along with what Undyne said, putting just enough effort into his smile to keep her distracted. But Toriel could feel the pressure building within him, the nervous energy she had felt only a few days before, and as Undyne reached for the gifts under the tree, she finally felt it burst.

“Okay, Papyrus, you go first and then I—”

“I DON’T LIKE THE BARISTA.”

It came out so suddenly—and so quietly—that Toriel wasn’t sure he had meant to say it aloud. But he had, and even Papyrus’s quiet voice was a shout by everyone else’s standards. The whole room was silent in a matter of seconds, the unwrapping of gifts frozen as all eyes turned to face the two of them.

Undyne, for her part, didn’t look away from Papyrus, her mouth hanging open uselessly for a couple of seconds before she clamped it shut and stared.

“… huh?”

Papyrus let out a faint whine and dropped his gaze to the floor, clenching his fists and shaking his head. “I DON’T … I-I … I DON’T LIKE THE BARISTA. LIKE HE … LIKES ME.”

“Um … okay?” Undyne said, raising one eyebrow before she shrugged. “I mean, that’s fine, Papyrus. If you don’t like him, you don’t like him. There’s always—”

“AND I DON’T THINK I LIKE ANYONE ELSE EITHER,” he cut her off. Undyne stopped, mouth hanging open. Papyrus bit back a whine and shook his head. “I DON’T … I’M NOT SURE, BUT … I DON’T THINK I WANT TO HAVE A BOYFRIEND. OR A GIRLFRIEND. OR A … DATE FRIEND. AT ALL.”

Silence. Alphys and Sans had both turned to face them, neither of them daring to speak, though Toriel could see Sans’s legs twitching, ready to run to his brother’s side at a second’s notice, even if it meant stepping between him and his best friend. Undyne said nothing. Papyrus took a deep breath and lifted his head.

“I … I WISH I COULD GO ON YOUR ‘DOUBLE DATES,’ UNDYNE, THEY SOUND VERY FUN, BUT IT WOULD NOT BE FAIR TO SOMEONE ELSE TO TELL THEM I LIKE THEM WHEN I DON’T AND I WOULDN’T WANT TO LIE TO YOU EITHER BECAUSE YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND AND LYING IS NOT SOMETHING YOU SHOULD DO TO YOUR FRIENDS EVEN IF IT IS SOMETIMES EASIER NOT TO TELL THE TRUTH BUT I WANT TO TELL THE TRUTH BECAUSE YOU ARE VERY IMPORTANT TO ME AND I—”

“You’re an idiot.”

It was so sudden, so quiet, that for a second Toriel wasn’t even sure it was Undyne who had spoken.

But it was Undyne’s voice, and it made Papyrus freeze, just like it always did, his mouth hanging open and his eyes locked on her. They both paused for a second, staring at each other, before Papyrus’s mouth clamped shut, and he forced himself up a little taller.

“I … NO, I’M NOT!”

“Well, right now you are,” she countered, her brow furrowing and her mouth curving into a scowl. “Cause only a _total moron_ would think that I would give a _crap_ whether you wanna date people or not. Only a _moron_ would think that that would make you any less my best friend.”

Papyrus went silent once again. Sans fidgeted, and Alphys looked back and forth between Undyne and Papyrus so fast it looked like her head was ready to come off. But Undyne ignored them both, holding herself taller still, all but towering over Papyrus, as her mouth stretched into a wide grin.

“And you know what? Double dates are boring. _Anyone_ can do double dates! We can do dates where me and Alphys smooch and you take embarrassing pictures and Sans drinks all the ketchup in the restaurant and falls asleep in the booth! That’s _way_ better!”

She punched him in the shoulder, almost hard enough to knock him over. Papyrus stumbled, but steadied himself, his sockets wider than Toriel had ever seen them. If his shoulder hurt, he didn’t seem to notice.

“R-REALLY?”

Undyne frowned. “You callin’ me a liar?!”

Papyrus stiffened like a board. “N-NO, UNDYNE!”

“Good.” She nodded again, her face hardening and softening all at once. “Good.”

The tension in his body slipped a little as he looked at her, and for a moment it was hard to believe that he was grown. He looked so much like that child she could barely remember, that child she had taken in even though he couldn’t remember why, the child she had held and cared for and raised to know that he was loved, no matter what.

The child who now had someone else who loved him just the same.

Undyne smirked and punched him again, lighter this time.

“So stop being stupid. There’s _nothing_ that could make me stop loving you. Especially not something like that,” she finished. She lifted her head higher and smirked. “Now. Where’s my present? I wanna see which one of us won the Best Present Contest!”

Papyrus stared for a second, then blinked.

“UH … BEST PRESENT CONTEST?”

Undyne’s smirk widened.

“Well, _duh_! It’s our first real Gyftmas on the Surface! Of _course_ we gotta have a Best Present Contest!”

“UH … RIGHT!” Papyrus managed, his confusion making way for something like determination. “OF COURSE! I HAVE THE MOST AMAZING GIFT THAT I AM CERTAIN YOU WILL ENJOY! I WILL GO FETCH IT NOW! YOU SHALL SOON TASTE DEFEAT IN THE FLAVOR OF EXCELLENT GIFT-GIVING, UNDYNE!”

He stumbled over the other people and unwrapped gifts scattered around the floor, making his way toward the tree, while Undyne stood still and watched him with fondness in her eyes. She turned to look at Toriel, just for a second, and Toriel gave a small, approving nod.

And just like that, everything continued like it had never stopped.

While Undyne and Papyrus presented their challenge-gifts to each other, Sans and Alphys exchanged their own more … conventionally, Sans insisting that Alphys open her own first. Toriel had been there when he picked it out, had seen the eager expectation in his eyes, and that only culminated in a mixture of joy and relief when she unwrapped the paper now to find some sort of complex mechanical device. Toriel couldn’t have named it for her life, but judging by the expression on her face, Alphys certainly could. And also judging by her expression, she hadn’t been expecting it.

“S- _Sans_!” she breathed, looking back and forth between him and the object in her hands so fast she must have gotten whiplash. “You d-didn’t h-have to … these are so expensive …”

Sans just shrugged. “hey, you’ve been lookin at it for at least four months now. sides, i know it’ll go to good use.”

She shook her head.

“M-mine is so _bad_ compared to this …”

“it’ll be perfect, al,” he insisted with a nudge to her arm.

And indeed, the small telescope made Sans smile wider than Toriel had seen in weeks, his eyes all but lighting up before he set the gift aside and tugged Alphys into a hug.

Frisk had just opened up their gift from Papyrus—a hand-knitted sweater with a large smiley-face design in the center, amidst all the stripes—when a knock came at the door.

A knock that was just a little bit too heavy, and too gentle, for Toriel to mistake it.

Undyne was on her feet before the thought could register in Toriel’s head.

“I’ll get it!”

Toriel started to protest, but sighed and turned her attention back to her own presents. Just for once, she could allow someone else to take over hostess duties. This was her family, after all. Perhaps she should allow them to help out as she helped them.

The door swung open—thankfully not adding another hole to the wall—and Undyne’s face broke out in an almost frightening smile.

“ _Asgore!”_

All eyes turned to face the door as Undyne stepped aside to make way for a large figure, dressed in a faux-fur-lined red suit, boots, and the same hat she had seen on his head the night before.

“Asgore? Who is that?” Asgore asked, forcing his voice an octave lower than usual. He held out his arms toward the room, smiling so wide she could almost call it genuine, an overstuffed sack hanging from one hand. “I’m Santa!”

Undyne snorted and pushed the door shut. “Right, sure, old man. Come on in! We’ll try to make some room for you! You might have to sit on an empty box or two, but we’ll figure something out!”

She stepped back into the room as if this was no big deal, as if she had expected him, even though she must have known Toriel’s hesitance. Asgore paused at the entrance to the living room, seeking out Toriel’s eyes in silent question. Toriel broke his gaze, but said nothing. Apparently he took that as the reluctant approval she meant it to be.

“HELLO SANTA!” Papyrus said, with so much enthusiasm that Toriel wasn’t entirely sure whether he knew who he was talking to. But when she looked closer, she found a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, a sparkle of _knowing,_ and her questions went out the door. But there was no less eagerness as he patted the spot on the floor beside him. “YOU CAN SIT HERE! OH! FRISK AND I HAVE PRESENTS FOR YOU!”

“Oh, there’s no need for that, Papyrus,” Asgore said, forgetting to disguise his voice as he tried to make his way through the living room to his designated spot without crushing anything.

“OF COURSE THERE IS!” Papyrus replied, getting to his feet and making his own way toward the tree. “I SEE YOUR BAG OF GIFTS, AND YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY GIVE GIFTS IF YOU DO NOT ALSO GET TO RECEIVE SOME!”

“Yeah, I’ll go get mine, too!” Frisk added.

Asgore watched them with quiet affection as he sat down at the designated spot. He looked awkward there. Out of place. Like he knew, on some level, that he didn’t belong. That he would never completely belong.

But he also looked happy, and she found that she couldn’t begrudge him that.

It was only a day. One day, and then they would go back to how things were.

Except … things would never go back to how they were, now that she had welcomed him in, if only once.

And she couldn’t decide quite how she felt about that.

But the discomfort of his presence began to fade as everyone went back to their own activities. Frisk gave their gift to Alphys after handing a wrapped box to Asgore, and the two of them went to chatting as she unwrapped it. So Sans was left alone to pick up another box from under the tree, unwrapping with just as little ceremony as he always did.

She only recognized the carefully-placed paper a second before he tore the last of it off, and found himself staring down at a box. He paused a second, then opened it.

And found a rock.

And next to the rock, a piece of paper.

He looked at her in question, then took out the piece of paper and began to read.

She had been quite amazed to hear of the many trips to outer space humans had made before monsters emerged, and was only too pleased to learn that they had been bringing back souvenirs. Like the trips to Mars in 2051, 2078, and 2103, which had made “space rocks” not only available to ordinary humans, but cheap enough for someone without an exceptional bank account to purchase. And common enough that she might find one sitting in a little shop in the mall.

But while most humans probably looked upon them now as nothing special, Sans stared down at the rock like it had shattered his view of the world and replaced it with something far, far better.

He turned his eyes up to look at her, shining and warm and so, so _happy._

Really happy. Happy like Papyrus. Happy like Frisk. Happy like her.

Yes. She _was_ happy.

Even with Asgore here.

Because her children had wanted him here. They had wanted to bring him in on this new tradition. He wasn’t a part of their family—never would be, not really—but to them, he was a friend. While he might never be hers again, all she had ever wanted was her children’s happiness. Even if it meant she had to step aside from an old conviction to help them achieve it.

_You don’t have to forgive him. You don’t ever have to forgive him. He did unspeakable things to you, and you don’t want to let them go. That is your right, and there is nothing wrong with that._

She had said that, hadn’t she? That was what Sans remembered. She didn’t know when she had said it, or why, but … she _had_ said it.

_The only thing I want for you is a life free of anger. Because anger … it serves its purpose for a time, but if it’s left to fester, with no way to express it to the one it’s meant for, it only hurts you. It can make you miserable._

Sans had been angry once, unbearably angry, but she saw none of that in him now. Maybe he had just forgotten. Maybe he would remember, someday, and that anger would return. But she got the feeling that when Sans had been that angry, he hadn’t been happy.

He was happy now. Happier than she had ever known him.

And as she stared into his eyes, she knew that nothing was strong enough to take all of that happiness away.

_will you tell me when you figure out how to stop?_

Her lips curled up, sad and happy all at once, and Sans’s eyes softened as he stared back.

_I promise._

Maybe she would still live with her anger for a while longer. It was old anger, but it had had very little chance to work itself out when the person who had caused it was so far away. But while it had weighed on her like a boulder for the past year—for far longer—now it felt like it had shrunk, just a bit, some of it fading away to dust, leaving the rest a bit less of a burden to carry.

It would take time, and work, and she would never look upon him as she had before. She would never love him again. She would never forgive him. Not after what he had taken from her.

But one day, perhaps she could move on.

For now, she had her family. She had her friends. She had her _children,_ three living children, even among eight dead ones—even if a tiny part of her wanted to say nine, and she still didn’t know why. She had a new life on the Surface, a chance for a real future, the sort she had once believed was forever out of her reach.

Things were as well as they could be, and they were only going to get better.

She looked at Sans and Papyrus. After a moment, they looked back and smiled, her own lips automatically curving up in return.

Yes. One way or another, everything was going to be alright.


End file.
